The Legend of Zelda: Rebel Assassin
by Split Infinitive
Summary: Everything you thought you knew about the Legend was false. Link is a Royal Assassin for Ganondorf Dragmire. His target? A certain princess and her poverty stricken family.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The standard line for all chapters – Nintendo own the Legend of Zelda and I don't

**The Legend of Zelda: Rebel Assassin**

**Chapter 1**

_'Our next subject is one of the most curious, and baffling, to occur in the Book of Mudora. Usually we find the Book to be vividly clear in its description of times gone by, but here it speaks of the 'Cycle', an event that occurs every one hundred summers bringing together a hero, a Princess and a great evil. The Book reports that this was in fulfilment of a prophecy long ago, the details and origins of which are unknown to us. Certainly, there have been reported Cataclysms that have occurred at roughly the same time as the Cycle is supposedly renewed, but we found little evidence telling us of either a hero or a Princess, whose names are equally unknown to us, or this alleged 'great evil.'_

_'What is exciting is that we appear to be due for another renewal, since the first of the Cycle – referring to a cryptically named 'Hero of Time' - took place almost five hundred summers ago.'_

- from 'Breaking the Seal', a commentary on the Book of Mudora

_'Someone once told my friends to 'expect the unexpected.' Good advice, I say.'_

- from the private journals of Fran Marcaster

...

The cool, velvet night air rippled then cracked as the portals tore into the atmosphere. Dropping from the glowing holes like dark, molten metal, the four members of the Assassins League dived to the flat rooftops, scarcely making a single sound. They landed in crouches then sprung to their feet, not wanting to waste any time. Clad in black armour, they moved like liquid shadows, leaping the narrow spaces between the buildings without missing a beat. They stuck to the shorter structures, not having the equipment to scale the higher ones that crowded around the centre of the city like a hive.

The cold stars winked down upon them with their piercing light, but Link, the Hylian that no family would claim as their own, knew that this was his chance to shine. His vision sweeping across the horizon to keep track of his companions, he felt his heart thud in his chest, so loud that he thought it would awaken those few people that were sleeping this night. He flicked at his modified crossbow hanging from his belt and heard the reassuring whirr of the mechanism clicking into place, the smell of the weapon's explosive powder telling him all was working well.

The Test. Of all the nights Commander Kisho could have picked for Link's moment in the fire, he had to have picked this one. Barely sixteen summers old, the young would-be assassin ran to the edge of rooftop, letting his eyes fall on the people below. Like a forest animal waking after a winter's long sleep, something had stirred amongst the people of New Hyrule Town in response to the news that a new King was to be crowned. Excited whispers leapt from tongue to tongue, people gained an extra spring to their steps, and the warm glow of hope rose like the morning sun. A change, it was said, was as good as a night's rest and the people were ready for it.

None of this, though, concerned Link. His sharp eyes focused on the street, feeling the cold wall under his gloved hands. Leaning slightly over the building's edge, his mind fell back onto his training as he let all non-essential sights and sounds melt into the background. He heard the whisper of a boot crunching on stone and felt the presence of his fellow assassin, Jonah, beside him. Short brown hair framing a surprisingly soft face, he was one of few comrades that was close to Link's age.

Jonah lightly tapped his own weapon as he watched the younger man carefully. "We await your command," he said with trickle of amusement, the forced formality betraying the awkwardness of their situation. Link was the youngest ever to take the Test. He'd proven himself to be more than ready though. He believed he was with all his heart. Still. There was an awkward knot in his heart, a needle like pinch of doubt that made him feel slightly embarrassed that he was in command of such a well-trained unit of his seniors. "Have you found the prey yet?"

"I'm still looking," Link answered truthfully. Lights gleamed from the streets below, as the throng of people rushed about, making last minute trades before tomorrow's big coronation day. Children laughed, their voices floating in the air. The smell of grilled meat curled around the scent of perfumed sweets, rising up to the rooftops. Link sniffed them away angrily, considering them to be nothing more than an idle distraction.

Hidden though he was up here, Link still felt all eyes upon him. Not the eyes of the people who were blissfully unaware of his presence, but the eyes of his team-mates who pinned him with their stares from roofs of the nearby houses, waiting, as Jonah had said, for his word. Waiting to see if he could pass the Test. Five summers he had been with the group. Four previous to that he had spent in training. He'd watched from the shadows as they had handled the larger kills, while he himself had taken part in the lesser ones. His life had been building up to this moment. Though he had some minor kills under his belt, this would be his first _real_ one. If he could tackle this hurdle, he would become a fully-fledged member of the King's elite assassins. And, more importantly, he would be first Hylian ever to achieve that feat.

All the time he had spent on the archery field, sharpening his eyes and hands so that worked in fluid synchronisation, all the nights he had let his mind free, meditating as he tried shut out the promptings of his soul, all the hours he pushed himself with various exercises – running, lifting, jumping – to pack on some muscle onto his slender frame, all of it would be for nothing if he could not pass the Test. A mixture of trepidation and excitement bubbled within him. He was eager to grasp this opportunity with both his hands, though he knew how far he would fall if he failed.

His vision honed in on people's faces. His eyes fixed on one person, discarded the image as unfamiliar and then moved onto another. Many summers of training had taught him to be quick, to gather his information as fluidly as possible. A man. A woman. A child. A pretty maiden. He lingered too long on that last one and he hissed at himself inwardly. Distractions needed to be filtered out.

_There._

"Prey sighted," he barked, trying to keep his voice calm. "He's entering Goron Alley." Link grinned, sensing victory. "Tell the others."

Jonah smiled back, making elaborate hand gestures mixed with short, shrill whistles. At the corner of his consciousness, Link could almost sense the others dart into position.

"Good job," Jonah said.

Link merely grunted in reply, trying not to show on his face how heartened he was at the genuineness in his friend's tone. Taking a small yellow capsule from his belt, he threw it into the air, where it promptly erupted into the shape of a large, golden bird. The creature flapped its wings lazily, then turned to fix Link with narrowed eyes.

"What have you awakened me for this time?" it said in a mock-weary voice.

Smiling, Link leapt, hanging in the air for a fraction of a second, before landing on the bird's back, making it sag slightly. "Business as usual, Bannock, my friend." He kicked at it, making it glide down swiftly towards the streets below. Had anyone looked up at that moment, they would have seen nothing. The Glimmer Birds of Phantom Island had the unique talent of being able to hide themselves and their riders from sight. Unless, of course, they wanted to be seen. Link saw the others jump onto their own rides, birds of purple, brown and red, only visible to the assassins at this very moment.

"I hope you're well rested," Link said, as Bannock flew. He suddenly remembered the coldness of the current climate as a chill wind bit at his face.

"I am always rested and ready," Bannock replied indignantly. "Unlike you."

Link buried his smile in the bird's feathers, trying both to gather some heat and to keep his mind concentrated on his task. He caught a glimpse of Castle Dragmire, framed in moonlight in the distance, standing cold and still. Tomorrow it would be quite different. Tomorrow the aged King would abdicate in favour of his son, and the people would celebrate the new rightful ruler. No other claim to the throne would be entertained, of course. Especially after tonight when the assassins would slay another of the would-be usurpers.

They flew over the people's heads and Link was tempted to dive in lower just to see the looks on their faces when they felt the change in the air. He tried to stop himself from laughing, but failed. A large, brown Glimmer Bird approached him from the left and Link caught the sight of Commander Kisho's weathered face.

"Something amusing you, Link?" he said, his cultured accent a sharp contrast to his position in life. The younger man almost felt the heat rise in his face, like a child that had been caught doing something wrong. "Keep your mind on your task, lad."

"Yes, sir," Link replied, choking the anger he felt at himself down. He didn't want to disappoint his mentor.

"Which way did he go?"

Link cocked his head in the direction. "To the right, sir."

Without replying, the Commander banked his bird sharply to the right, making Link panic as he struggled to match the manoeuvre. They swooped down Goron Alley at a dizzying speed, shops and people spinning wildly in Link's vision as the wind tugged at his hair and cloak. Link caught the glimpse of a running man up ahead.

"I see him," he said, excitement rising in his voice. "I can catch him."

"No," Kisho replied gravely. "You have to do this on foot."

"You heard the man, Bannock," Link cried. The bird nodded, then melted back into his capsule form, and Link caught it as he glided down. The others followed suit.

The townsfolk scattered in confusion as the assassins literally, at least to their eyes, fell out of the sky. Link didn't pause to rest, pushing his legs along as he scooped his crossbow up from his belt.

"Move!" he shouted as he dodged and weaved through the mass of people, sliding between courting couples and ducking under tradesmen carrying heavy crates. Sight and sound assaulted his senses, the brightly coloured decorations, the songs of the minstrels, the cries of the shopkeepers. Most darted out of his path, but some were not quick enough. One, pushing along a cart full of dark green, round vegetables, froze in shock, his mouth hanging open and his eyes glistening with fear. Link had no time to even slow down. He leapt, landing deftly onto the pile of vegetables, before springing into the air once more, arms outstretched and laughing at the sheer thrill of the bitter wind flying into his face. Landing on the other side with only the slightest of stumbles, he continued, his heart soaring with the pure joy of being alive. The cart toppled to one side, spilling its contents all over the ground. Hearing the yell of protest from behind him, Link bit his lip. The Commander wouldn't be happy at the amount of attention he was drawing to himself.

The other assassins caught up to him and they ran as one, their boots clattering on the pebble-strewn ground, shattering pools of ice into crystal-like shards. No one tried to stop them. Though their uniforms were irregular – most people not having been exposed to the assassins before – they still bore the Royal Dragmire crest.

He would have loved to have stayed and experienced the town at night. Youthful impulses tugged at him, tempting him with the prospect of a night's worth of excitement. The happy, laughing faces around him were seductive. It took an effort, but he pushed it way, buried it until at least the next day. He knew better than to be distracted while he was on duty. Tomorrow they were all on leave for the coronation. Tomorrow, he could relax without fear or regret.

The prey threw a fearful glance back in their direction. Link raised his crossbow, feeling the drawstring tighten with a twang.

"Harkinian!" he shouted. "Stop!"

Link knew he had made a mistake from the hiss that escaped from his Commander's lips. Big Rivero DiSott bellowed in laughter. He was considered to be the most vicious of the assassins, and the thick scars on his face and torso were a testament to that. What he lacked in the atypical assassin grace, he made up for in sheer brawn. Though he seemed to hold most people in disdain, he always had an extra slab of hot anger ready for Link. It was a shame that they both worked in the same squadron.

"You don't mention the prey's name in public, boy," the big man quivered as he spoke in his deep tones.

Link felt the shame sting him, but he kept his modified crossbow trained on the fleeing man. Seeing a raised weapon made the townsfolk flee in greater panic and the assassins stopped running, standing as the calm eye in the whirlwind of people around them.

"What are you doing?" Rivero continued. "You won't be able to strike him from here, little boy. Besides you're spooking the people. Aren't assassins supposed to be hidden at all times, or are you trying to get us demoted to the regulars like all the other sheep?"

The taunt ignited cold determination that ran in Link's veins. He narrowed his eyes, fixing the point of the arrow on the prey's leg.

"Commander, stop him," Rivero protested.

"Wait," Kisho replied.

The word gave Link a breath of encouragement as did the exasperated sound that escaped from Rivero's lips in response.

Link pulled the trigger. There was a flare of orange light as the arrow was propelled forward.

It was a clear shot. Most people were now cowering in shops or out of sight as the assassins became the centre of attention. They probably thought that Link and his companions were just an extension of the various law enforcement troops that the King kept around the city. They wouldn't be too wrong in their estimations.

The arrow spun through the air like a bolt of lightening, ripping the atmosphere in its deadly path. It sliced through the running man's leg and he stumbled to the ground, crying out in pain. The four assassins of the Royal Red Order surrounded him in an instant, their weapons ready and aimed. Link had reached him first, eager to claim his kill and pass the Test.

"Nice work, Link," Kisho said with a tight smile. "Finish this."

"Yes, sir," the younger man replied quietly, locking another arrow into place. The prey looked up at Link with wide, fear filled eyes that made something catch at his heart. He pushed it away and fingered the trigger. Emotion on the job, he knew, had to be shorn away until it was blunt like the sword that had taken a thousand-thousand kills. He didn't need it, especially not now. Passing the Test would gain him full acceptance into the assassins' circle. They were his life and he needed their approval.

_Let your heart grow cold_, he told himself. It's a target, not a person.

A woman burst from the shadows, a wailing child in her arms. Link stepped back, startled. She fell to her knees in front of the man, putting herself between the assassins and their prey.

"Anju," the man said, his voice trembling. "Don't do this."

"Quiet," she hissed. Her defiant glare made Link want to take another step back. "Let's see how manly these fellows really are. Will they shoot through a defenceless woman and her child to get at what they want?"

There was something else about the couple made Link hesitate. Something that bothered him. Like himself, the man, woman and child were Hylian. Link looked up at his Commander as he tried to fight the tide of helplessness.

Kisho shrugged simply. "This is your Test, Link," he said. "It's your decision."

"Another Harkinian," Rivero rumbled with distaste. "Kill all three of them."

_Let your heart grow cold_, he repeated, but he felt his resolve slip. Link hesitated again and he glanced over at his friend for aid. The hard edge in Jonah's eyes almost made the young man flinch.

"It's better this way, Link," he said softly. He raised his crossbow, the mechanism clicking as an arrow was readied.

A stab of betrayal struck at Link's heart. He'd expected Jonah of all people to support him when he needed him. Then again, Jonah and his fellow assassins probably did not even realise why Link was so unsettled. They were, after all, all Calatians. Link felt his breathing start to quicken and his fingers flexed and unflexed around the crossbow's trigger. This was so simple. He'd killed people before, though never a Harkinian or a Hylian. Why was he now hesitating? What was it that was holding him back? Still he couldn't shut out the annoying whisper of confusion, the blanket of doubt that was taking the edge off what he had hoped would be his night of triumph.

Jonah took in a deep breath as his finger began to push down on the release button.

"Stop," said Link. "We have a Code, remember?" Relief washed the guilt from his soul as he recalled the teachings he had received as a child. "This is wrong. We don't kill innocents to get to our intended target."

"Ha!" Rivero snorted, making Link glower in anger. "There's no one in the world who's truly innocent."

"He's right," Jonah said, though Link thought he caught a flicker of doubt in his friend's eyes. "One less Harkinian is one less threat to our King."

Kisho remained silent, watching the young assassin through narrowed eyes. For a moment, Link was convinced. Kill the woman and the child and then remove the threat. Who was to know? None of the people who were watching them in terrified silence knew who they were anyway. What would they do? Complain to the King? Killing was his profession. Quick and clean, they could dispose of the bodies and then head to the tavern to relax. He desperately wanted to believe it. He needed to. Everything he had worked for was built on this. All he had to do was fire the weapon and walk away, a few lives less in the world, but, for Link, it would mean a few rungs higher on the ladder.

Link licked his lips as Jonah turned his attention back to the prey. At that moment, something sparked inside of Link's heart, a feeling of something ancient and familiar. A decision was made.

He swung his crossbow away from the fallen family and aimed it at his friend. "I said 'Stop'," he whispered, his breath floating in the air in a faint, puffy cloud.

Jonah's mouth dropped open, but he kept his weapon steady. Link heard Rivero growl beside him. Kisho made no move. Time seemed to slow and the air thickened. Link desperately tried to keep himself from trembling, as his mind screamed at him for being a fool. Here he was, the youngest of the four, taking his first real Test and he was doing everything wrong.

"Is that an order?" Jonah replied in a quiet voice.

A heartbeat of time passed. Link felt kept his jaw still, not wanting to show any fear. Jonah had to know how serious he was. He knew the Commander wouldn't interfere, knew that the Test involved Link showing responsibility while being in command. It still burned him, to be in the position to give orders to his seniors, even if it was only for one night. His fingers were slick with sweat, but he did not waver. His friend looked him over, a disbelieving light in his eyes.

"It is."

Slowly, Jonah's weapon arm dropped. Link did not take either his eyes off his own crossbow or off of him. "Go," he said down to the man and woman. They hesitated, confusion and awe creasing their faces. Link felt his irritation grow. "Leave! Get out of here."

They stumbled to their feet, the woman having to support both the baby and the injured man at the same time. The woman threw Link one last look, sending her thanks in a breathless voice. He grit his teeth, feeling all the worse that his companions were witnessing this.

With a roar, Rivero lunged at him, grabbing him by his collar and lifting him up. Link's eyes bulged and his crossbow fell from his fingers, clattering to the floor. He felt himself be brought near to the big man's face, close enough so that he could see the red veins pulsing in the large assassin's eyeballs. He smelt Rivero's hot, rotten breath on his skin.

"You have failed the Test," he said simply, before letting him drop. The words cut into the youngster's soul.

The others started to walk away and Link rubbed at his throat, feeling the deep imprints of Rivero's fingers there. Letting despair weigh down upon his heart, Link made his way shakily to his feet, before slowly walking behind the other assassins.

...

Watery moonlight ghosted in through the large window, casting an eerie glow on to the Throne room's patterned floor. No other lights were shining. The room itself was intricately designed. A group of craftsmen had lovingly carved the elaborate golden arches that framed the more austere looking Throne laying at the centre. It looked deceptively simple to the eye. Sending out a team to find the most finest of trees, Ganondorf Dragmire had his carpenters construct a chair that looked as though it had sprouted from the floor itself, tendrils of wood curving around each other to create a ribbon-like effect.

He sat there now, no longer impressed by the Throne's beauty. Holding a frosted glass limply in one hand, the King of Greater Calatia looked a sickly and miserable figure. The last of the Gerudo had asked not be disturbed and had only permitted the presence of the young silver-haired woman, who sat before him now, watching with grey eyes.

"Impa," the King said, his voice sounding as withered as he looked. "Tell me."

"Yes, my Liege?" she replied, the strength of her youthful voice making a mockery of his own.

"How will history remember me?"

She sighed. Impa had been asked this very same question many, many times in all the summers she had been in service to the King. His bouts of reflective melancholy were becoming increasingly frequent now that the time was nearing for him to hand over the reins of power to his son.

"As a righteous man," she said, hoping that she could force enough sincerity into her voice.

The King lay his head back with a throaty laugh. "How can that be true?" he said, the leaden tone of self-pity almost making Impa flinch in irritation. "How can one man's actions wipe out the sins of his ancestors?"

"Because," the young woman replied, her voice gaining an edge, "you're not responsible for the actions of those that went before you. You're only known for what you are now, today."

Ganondorf shook his head sadly. "No. People only know of Ganondorf Dragmire from the deeds of those before that took the same name." He sighed. "I will never be free of this curse."

"Yes, you will," she answered sharply. She was wide awake now. The dull fatigue of keeping herself from sleeping just to keep the King company melting away under the conviction of her words. "Tomorrow, your reign ends. Tomorrow you can rest." She waited as his eyes studied her. "Besides, no one but scholars of the most obscure knowledge knows of the Ganondorfs of history."

The King shifted in his seat. "That's not true," he said. "The Harkinians know. And they desire to take back what they believe is theirs."

Impa waved her hand dismissively. "The Harkinians are no threat," she said, trying to force him to see sense from the power of her words alone. "Your assassins have dealt with most of them. Let them cry over the unjustness of their situation. It's nothing to do with us. Their men cannot touch us."

"It's not their men that worry me," Ganondorf replied with a chuckle. "It's the girl."

Another paranoid fantasy that her King nursed. Impa had heard about 'the girl' many times, growing tired with his obsession with her. She could not show any obvious impatience however, and she had long learned to remain patient and comforting despite the fact that it grated at her on the inside. "There is no girl. She could be nothing more than a myth. A legend."

"Perhaps," he mused, stroking his chin. "But here I am at the end of my existence and she has not appeared. The scrolls always spoke of three. A darkness, a princess and a hero." He looked away as he mused inwardly. "And three symbols of power that would appear alongside them." His words were spoken softly, as if they were more to himself than to Impa.

"Well, the fact that she's not here just proves that you've been a _good_ King. Please, don't think like this. You have brought peace to the land. You've established friendly borders with the neighbouring islands. You've been just to the people. You've been kind and you're loved by everyone."

Ganondorf sighed again, his eyes smouldering with regret and a hint of anger. "Kind? Loved?" he barked. "Not by the Harkinians. Their blood is on my hands. One by one I've had them hunted down, turned the people against them, and for what? They only wished to take their place as the rightful rulers of the land. They are, after all, the true Royals."

"You did what any other wise sovereign would have done," Impa said, not wanting to think on his words. She was genuine when she said that Ganondorf had done tremendous good for their people. But the actions they had undertaken in order to secure that left a bad taste in her mouth. She only hoped that the good would outweigh the bad in the final outcome. "The Harkinians were a threat to your power and the stability of the land. If they couldn't be appeased they had to be removed. There was no other choice."

Impa shifted as she waited for him to continue, trying to keep the tingle out of her legs as they grew numb from staying in one position too long. The King brought his glass to his lips, taking a small sip as the light caught on the smoky surface.

"My son," Ganondorf said final, after a moment's pause for thought. "He is not ready for this."

Impa blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden change in subject. She could imagine what young Montero Dragmire was doing this night. Probably sitting in a hazy, smoke-filled room, surrounded by his sycophantic friends as they plotted what to do with all the riches and power that was to come their way in the morning. Impa felt a sliver of disgust. She would have to serve the young King as dutifully as she had the old one.

"Any son of yours has the strength to be a just ruler," she mumbled in a half-hearted tone.

"He does not have the bite to grasp life," Ganondorf said with an acidic voice. "If it wasn't for my failing health, I would hesitate to hand over the Kingdom over to him. He's been coddled too much, sheltered away from the realities of life. He is not sensitive to the needs of his subjects. I dread to think what he will do with all the power. It is another weight on my mind."

She could not argue against that assessment of the younger Dragmire, having been at the receiving end of his cruel taunts many times. "You do not have to hand power over to him," she suggested with a hint of hope.

"I do and you know it," he replied with a shake of his head. "My health is failing me and I would see him take the Throne before I pass. At least this way, I can see how he deals with his role and guide him aright if need be."

A twinkle, like that of a distant star, caught Impa's eye and she saw that there was ice forming on the very walls of the castle now. She shivered.

"Perhaps," the King continued, rubbing his finger around the rim of his glass. "He needs a wife. Someone to tether him and open his eyes and heart."

Impa had to stop herself from snorting out loud. She pitied any woman that would end up as Montero's bride. Sadly though, she knew that many women would line up for the chance. Not out of any love for the young half-Gerudo, but for the opportunity to be Queen. That would only bury Montero deeper under his ego. He needed to be thrust into the blood, sweat, soil and tears of that everyone else had to endure. An idea came to her.

"What if he were to be assigned to one of your squadrons for a while?" Impa said cautiously. "He would learn a lot from them. It might steel him, make him more prepared for the tasks to come."

"Montero the assassin?" the King asked with a raised eyebrow. "He wouldn't like that."

She smiled in response. "It wouldn't matter. So long as you ordered him to."

Ganondorf sat back in his Throne, his forehead creasing in thought. Whispered voices floated in the air outside. Somewhere in the castle, someone dropped something, the metallic shimmering echoing for a moment.

"Yes," the King said, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "It is a good idea. Well done."

She grinned as she stood, awaiting his orders.

"Get me a list of all available Assassin League squadrons," he said as Impa nodded in response. "Then send word out immediately. The new King is about to be receive a coronation of fire."

...

Kafei stumbled down the narrow, cobbled streets of the Kokiri Quarter, his wife Anju hurrying after him, their baby cradled in her arms. His injured leg was biting in its pain, but he needed to go on. He ignored the pointed stares that he received from the people around them. They were the odd ones out here, he knew, their worn faces an eyesore in the sea of fresh faced youth that populated the area. The Kokiri were forever young, trapped in bodies that never aged beyond their twenty-fifth summer. But they were also a private people and tolerated strangers without asking too many questions. Perfect for Kafei and his relatives.

He'd heard stories that the Kokiri had once vanished from the earth. Other times other intricate details were woven into the tales; that the Kokiri were once known as the Krog and that they once grew no more older than seven summers. Kafei didn't know how true how either of those rumours were, but he wondered what it would be like to be always a child. Idly, he had once asked his wife whether she would still love him if he somehow were to be transformed into a little boy, and she insisted that she would.

At the moment, though, his thoughts regarding his wife were dark.

"I can't believe you risked yourself and our child like that," he said in a harsh whisper. The look on her face told him that she was not cowed.

"What did you want me to do?" she said, her anger rising to match his own tone. "Leave you to be killed?"

"Better that I die than all three of us," he replied, flashing his eyes towards her. They turned into a side street, away from the bustle of the main path where lanterns hung casting a glow that left no place to hide. Smoke from cooking fires clung to the air here, curling slowly skyward.

"Don't talk like that," Anju replied softly. She paused to shift the baby's position in her arms, before continuing, "That boy. He let us go."

"You were lucky," Kafei replied, his eyes shifting as he tracked the area for any sign that they were being followed. All he saw were the broken crates, stained with the sludge of rotted fruit and smelling just as bad, littering either side of the path. They were alone. "Trust you to find the one murderer in the world with a soft heart."

She hissed, her eyes gleaming. "I'd think most other husbands would be a little more appreciative when their wives just saved their lives," she spat. The baby stirred in her arms, his mouth stretching into a yawn as he shook a tiny fist.

Kafei turned away from her, coming to a stop in front of a heavily plated entrance, rotted wood peeking out from behind the metal. Casting one last look around him, he rapped on the door twice. After a moment, he heard the sound of a sliding bolt. An opening appeared near the top of the door and a pair of eyes peered out at them.

"Password?" the voice on the other side said in a breathy whisper.

"Ocarina," he replied, letting the word roll on his tongue.

The pair of eyes disappeared and Kafei heard the sharp metallic tugs of the locks being released.

"The boy was Hylian." Kafei was surprised to hear his wife speak again, but he felt too tired to respond. His tunic fluttered in the breeze as old scrolls, the monthly ones that detailed all the relevant news of New Hyrule, swirled around his feet.

"A traitor. So what?" he said, asking the question with a tone that indicated that the conversation was over.

The door swung open quickly and they entered just as fast. They strode down the darkened passageway, the dust in the air making their noses twitch. The baby sneezed.

"Take Hobert to our room," Kafei said, turning to his wife. "I'll go see if there's any food."

She nodded, walking away. There was still anger in her eyes and Kafei felt a pang of regret.

As he made his way to the pantry, he heard the echo of raised voices.

"This isn't wise," one said, an Elder from the sound of it. "What if you are seen? Or worse, captured?"

"No one even knows who I am or what I look like," the other answered, young and female. "Besides, I'll be in disguise. Even if anyone did see my face, it wouldn't alert them. I'm going out in public tomorrow, so I don't see why I can't go out tonight."

"You're too valuable," the Elder said. "It's too big of a risk. We need you here. _She _needs you."

"I can take care of myself," the female answered, her voice taking on an edge like a newly sharpened blade. "I'll take some of the others if that'll make you happy." There was a pause. "Who's with me?"

A heartbeat of silence passed.

"Look," she continued, her voice abruptly tugging with softness. "I know you're worried and I'm touched. And I know that she needs me. I'm not deserting her. She knows that." There was a pause, as though she were gathering her thoughts. "Please, just one night. They don't even know I exist. There's no danger. Trust me."

Kafei heard a murmur of assent and pursed his lips. He sided with the Elder's caution, but at the same time pitied the girl that had to be locked away down here for such a long time. He entered the pantry as he heard the hard thud of boots marching up stairs.

The cook saw him and quickly shook his head, an apologetic look in his eyes. Kafei's heart sank, knowing that there would be no food this night. He hoped, at least, to be able to find some milk for his son. Looking back into the passageway, he saw a group of his fellow family members appear, the girl in the lead.

"Out of our way," the girl said to the doorman. Kafei sighed as he saw them leave, concern biting at his heart.

Just as he turned back towards the pantry, he caught the flash of a blue tunic before it vanished into the night.

...

The heaviness in Link's soul did not lift, despite the laughter and smiles that reverberated around the cramped tavern. He spun his mug of water around on the table in bored frustration, as his eyes lay on the series of lights set into niches in the wall, glass lanterns that held in burning powder like entrapped, twinkling stars. The lanterns gleamed at him, the illumination seemingly trying to mock the darkness he felt inside.

He sat by himself in one corner, not wanting to have any company. This didn't stop others clasping him on the shoulder, enquiring about his health or offering to buy him a drink. Declining as politely as he could, Link tried to shut out the noise of the tavern, the hum of voices, the conversations that would crack into bellowing laughter without a moment's notice. Other men and women that shared in his profession were here, too, though he didn't know all of them. Assassins usually kept to their little cliques. It was an unspoken rule that they had marked this place, for reasons he still didn't know, as their own. The tavernkeeper, breaking the stereotype by being quite thin and surly, tolerated their presence. It was probably because of all the rupees they brought in.

In the outside world, very few people knew who they were and what they did. Here, in the comfort of shared companionship, they could be free.

His eyes trailed across the room. At one end, through a curtain of smoke, he saw a crowd of men huddled around a wooden target piece, cracked and stained from many summers of use. Rivero and Kisho were there, exchanging friendly taunts as they attempted to outdo the other. Rivero pulled back one meaty arm as the mob

fell into hushed silence. With a yell, he let free an axe, the rust stained blade spinning through the air.

A splintering crunch followed.

Dead centre.

The men erupted in cheers and Link tore his gaze away, not able to feel like he could join in with their joy. It was at times like this that he wished he could escape to the caves that surrounded New Hyrule Town. Whenever there was too much on his mind, he would climb up to the rocky caverns, sitting back as the soothing sound of trickling water tinkled in the background. From his vantage point high above the town, he could see for miles, the never-ending carpet of green grass, the traders that made their way down winding paths, the wispy smoke that floated above the town at daytime, and the sparkling lanterns that shone during the night. It was relaxing, and the fact that the people and buildings looked so small from up there made his problems seem to shrink as well.

Mystral, his elder sister, called it stupidity. According to her, if she needed to relieve the weight from her mind, she would just busy herself in some useful task instead of wallowing in misery, indolent and pathetic. Link smiled as he recalled her voice. He'd hoped that he would be able to go home this night with the good news of his promotion into the ranks of real assassins, but now that idea had withered away like a scroll cast into a flame. He didn't exactly know how she would react if he had passed. Mystral did not approve of his profession and did not speak of it much. She had no choice but to tolerate it, though. The King himself had chosen Link at a young age, when the small, blond haired Hylian had caught the Gerudo's eye.

They had been travelling back from a nearby village, tired, hungry and disappointed from a fruitless day of trading. Mystral and Link had no one else but each other, and they were forced to live on the crusts of bread that more wealthy people threw away. His sister worked all day, a seamstress of considerable skill, hoping to sell the gowns and dresses that she made to the higher-class women in neighbouring towns. Link had been too young to work himself, and he kept himself busy either by watching as his sister's efforts turned her face haggard, or by exploring the hills and rivers around the town.

The sun had begun to set that day and they were nowhere near home. They'd been set upon by bandits, a group of horsemen with blackened teeth and blood-stained swords. Link had stood his ground, a little boy no more than seven, growling and spitting curses with ferocious anger. The bandits had laughed at the sight, but others viewed it differently. Black clad warriors had sprung from the shadows, coming to the rescue. Then, the King himself had stepped out, looking Link over with an amused eye.

He'd been taken in after that, trained to become Dragmire's loyal assassin. The castle paid a healthy stipend, one that had supported both him and his sister well enough through the summers. Still. He knew that Mystral didn't like it at all. Some nights, she would look at him with a pained expression, wondering aloud at how much he would lose just so that they could be fed. But she could not refuse the King and there was nowhere else for them to go. She had learned long ago to accept whatever came her way without complaint, and this was another in a long line of setbacks in her life that she had no control over. He didn't really understand her objection. After all, their targets were always all criminals and revolutionaries anyway. If someone wasted the gift of life they deserved to have it ripped from them. Out of the three meagre kills he had, one was a sick man that preyed on young girls and the other two were minor foreign dignitaries that the King suspected of planning a rebellion.

Link felt a little sheepish as he recalled the events from earlier in the night. What was he thinking? At the time he had been buoyed by enthusiasm and he felt that he could do no wrong. Now, he realised how ridiculous it was that someone as young as him could even think to lead a group of trained killers. His gaze swept towards the door as more people walked in, a blast of cold air accompanying them. There were all sorts this night. Trolls and Imps, Hylians and Calatians. Though this tavern was a regular haunt of the Royal Red Order of the Assassins League, this night Link didn't recognise many of the faces. He supposed that the newcomers were mainly entertainers and traders, come to share in the next day's festivities.

Jonah sat himself down in the chair opposite Link, a bowl of steaming stew in his hands. Link looked at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

"What is it?" his friend asked. "Did you want some too?"

He raised a hand to try and catch the attention of one of the serving girls, but Link waved him away. "No, no," he said. "I can't believe you're still talking to me, that's all."

Jonah chewed on a morsel of meat thoughtfully, his eyes still on the young assassin. "Would you really have shot me?" he asked quietly.

Link opened his mouth to reply, then realised that he had no answer for that. He had been caught in the heat of the moment, and the memory was already a blurry stain on his mind. "I don't know," he answered with a shrug.

His friend watched him for a moment longer. "Take that miserable expression off of your face," he said in a light tone. "You did well enough."

Link scowled. "I failed."

"You don't know that," Jonah said softly. He flicked a glance over at the Commander before returning to his meal. "Kisho hasn't made any evaluation yet. There's still hope."

Link's heart stirred. "Really?"

"Well," the other man said, taking a sip from his spoon. "You attacked the target in a public place. You drew unnecessary attention to all of us. And you didn't finish him off when you had the chance." Jonah winked, his mouth curling into a smile. "Apart from all that, you showed courage and kept your mind focused." He paused. "Most of the time."

A sigh escaped from Link's lips as the familiar criticism bit at him. Despite all the time he had spent in meditation trying to hone to his mind, he was still prone to letting himself be distracted too easily. This night he had steeled himself especially, desperately trying to keep an iron grip on his thoughts. "I don't think Rivero would agree with you," he said.

The younger man was caught off by surprise by Jonah's small laugh. "Don't worry about him, Link. He always finds fault in everything and everyone. Besides, it's the Commander's decision, alone."

Feeling slightly relieved, Link looked up as the door creaked open once more, a swirl of chilled air gusting in with the newcomer. He groaned inwardly when he saw who it was. Jonah saw the look on his face and glanced over his shoulder. He turned back with a wide grin.

"Looks like you're going to be busy," he said with another laugh. Winking, he picked up his bowl and stood to depart. "I'll leave you to it."

Link watched with narrowed eyes as the newcomer, a Hylian, scanned the room, shrugging off the smiles and welcomes of the serving girls. His hair was long and grey, and he wore a thick coat to keep himself warm. Finally, his sparkling eyes came to rest on Link's table and he made his way in with a grim smile. Despite not really wanting to, Link smiled in response.

Old Man Marcaster slid into the seat opposite. He'd been pestering Link for over one whole summer now, and the young assassin had finally given in and accepted him as a part of his life, like a stubborn rash or a permanent scar. A serving girl approached the elderly man, but he scared her away with a pointed stare.

Link leaned back, one arm draped across the back of the chair in an attempt to be casual. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rivero and Jonah look at him with amused expressions.

"How are you, Fran?" he asked, as the other man studied, with squinting eyes, the list of foods that was carved into one wall.

Not seeing anything that he liked, the old man shook his head and turned his attention to Link. "The same as I was the last time you asked," he replied with a gruff tone. There was a heartbeat of silence between the two, Link knowing that this was what passed for pleasantries in Fran's life. He knew the old man wouldn't enquire about Link's own health. He wondered what had happened in his life to make Fran so bitter. "How did it go, laddie?"

After all this time, Link still had a problem trying to place the old man's accent. "Not too well, Fran," he said. "I didn't concentrate hard enough."

"Oh?" Fran said, rubbing his hands together to generate some warmth. "Weren't able to catch your target?"

"Worse," Link replied, the dull ache returning to his heart. "I let him go."

Surprisingly, Fran's face brightened at the revelation. Link felt a little irritated because of it. "What happened?"

"There was a woman with a child," he said in a sour tone. "She tried to protect him. I couldn't kill them."

Fran's face split into a grin and Link tensed, wanting to get away before he lost his temper. "Ha! There's still hope for you yet, laddie."

The young man had heard this talk many times before. He struggled to keep his eyes from rolling. "I'm destined for greater things, right?"

"Link," Fran replied, his voice as serious as the expression on his face. "Lad, I know you think I'm a crazy old fool." Link couldn't argue against that, but he kept quiet, waiting for the elder man to continue. "You just have to trust me, that's all. I don't know where and I don't know when, but there will come a time when you'll be called on to…" He was losing his words, throwing up his hands in exasperation. Link knew that he was trying to find a way to say what he wanted without sounding too unhinged or pretentious. He knew, because he'd had this very same conversation almost a thousand times previously. "To rise above your station."

Link's eyes drifted as Fran spoke. He saw the others still throwing axes at the target, and he briefly calculated at what angle he would have to position his crossbow to hit it from here. His gaze fell back to the old man and he realised that Fran had finished what he had to say and was waiting for Link to respond.

"Look," said Link, his forehead creasing as he wondered how not to hurt the man's feelings. He was surprised that he even cared. What was happening to him? "Really, I appreciate what you're doing. But you've been with me this past four seasons and this big destiny hasn't scooped me up yet." He couldn't resist his next words. "You're just someone who's trying to find some purpose at the end of his life, and you've latched onto me for some reason."

The flicker of pain that crossed Fran's features deflated Link's heart. Now he desperately wished he was high above in his cave, away from dealing with people and life itself. Maybe Mystral was right. He needed to distract himself. Idly, he wondered when the squadron's next hit would be. Killing something would help relieve tension. That is, if he could actually go through with it next time.

"You must have patience, laddie," Fran said, his expression softening. "I wish I could tell you all the things I know, I really do." Link was struck by the thick sincerity in his voice. "You wouldn't believe me, anyway. All I know is that we all have a role in life. And I truly believe I was brought here just to keep you on the right path. It can't have been a coincidence that I stumbled over you, it just can't."

As usual, whenever Link started talking for too long to Fran his mind swam with confusion. "Brought here? Coincidence?" he asked, leaning forward. He was interested, despite his earlier reluctance. "What do you mean?"

Fran fixed him with shining, almost maniacal eyes. "There was once a man known as the Hero of Time," he said, his voice deadly with weight. "You, Link, can follow in his footsteps and become truly great."

Link didn't want to be anything more than what he was now. "He called himself the 'Hero of Time?'" he said. "If I did that, Mystral would scold me for being an egotistical cloud cucco head." He wanted to lighten the mood, feeling sorry for the old man. Anyone else would cringe in embarrassment before spewing forth the stories that Fran did. He was relieved to see a smile crawl across the other man's wrinkled features.

"You _are_ an egotistical cloud cucco head," Fran taunted, without malice.

Link grinned. He paused to look up dramatically with a raised hand. "The Assassin of Time. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you want to _kill_ time," Fran said with a dry voice.

Link blinked. "So it does." His mind raced, gripped by a sudden urge to prove the old man wrong. "It was five hundred summers ago, wasn't it? I remember studying about that time when I was younger. The people were united under a kind Queen. There was wealth and peace. Hylians were a strong and noble race. Sounds a lot better than now."

"Laddie, laddie, laddie," Fran said, slapping the table and leaning back. "Romanticised nonsense to make you feel patriotic about the past. Life wasn't any more easier back then than it is now."

"How would you know?" Link asked, feeling the itch of irritation. "You weren't there."

Before the elder man could say any more, Link's attention was diverted by the door opening again. A small group of men entered with calm and unhurried steps. Something in the way they carried themselves struck Link. They had an aura of noble detachment about them, a confidence that seemed to hang in the air like something tangible.

Fran followed his gaze. "Entertainers," he said with disinterest. "They'll be putting on a show tomorrow."

Link leaned forward a bit further. One of the newcomers looked young, his slender form draped in a blue tunic with the shape of a red symbol on his chest. The lower part of his face was wrapped in bandages, as though he was injured in some way.

"Who's that?" Link asked, his concentration sidetracked once more.

Fran studied the newcomer for a moment. "I don't know his real name. Only the one he uses on stage."

Link waited, his eyes prompting the old man to continue.

"Sheik," Fran said finally. "He's known as Sheik of the Sheikah."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Link awoke to the sharp, rhythmic crack of an axe striking against wood. His eyes still heavy, he caught the yellow glow of the dawn as it tried to fight its way through the drapes hanging over his window. The air was still chilly as if some creature had sucked the warmth from the world. The cold climate embraced him, whispered to him to bury himself further into his blanket and float back to sleep. He rolled to one side, intending to do exactly that, when a memory pricked at him. Hissing, he realised that today was Coronation Day and he had to prepare for the festival, in addition to attending to his usual chores. Already the dull ache from last night's mission had faded, tucked away at the back of his mind as the twin feelings of anticipation for the festival and boredom towards his household duties took over.

He stumbled out of his bed a little too quickly and his head spun, flashing dots dancing in front of his eyes. Trying to steady himself, he reached out for the table that was beside his bed, but slipped, crumpling to the floor on top of his discarded tunic. He bit down as his knee cracked into his belt, the Glimmer capsule shooting from a pocket and striking a wall. With a flash, it ignited into the form of Bannock, his golden light hurting Link's eyes so much that he had to cover his eyes.

The bird flapped his wings slowly as he looked down on the young man with a bemused expression. "Is this the famous assassin's grace?" he asked. He opened his beak wide as if trying to imitate a yawn. "It's a wonder you can survive every morning without injuring yourself."

Getting to his feet with a scowl, Link hastily donned his crumpled clothes and fastened his belt with a click. He ran his hand through this hair, not really caring to give it any more attention than that. He listened for a moment, realising that the chopping was coming from outside and was now mixed with the sound of excited voices, as Bannock waited. The house was still. Mystral must still be asleep.

"Come on," he said to the bird. "Let's have a look outside before we have to get to work."

Letting the soft carpet tickle his feet, Link made his way downstairs, the tiny gusts of air from Bannock's wings touching the back of his neck like cold breath. The little house was still dark, though Link could make his way to the front door from memory alone. His eyes glanced into a room where a door was slightly ajar, and saw a pile of half-finished garments strewn across the floor and lying on the backs of chairs. Despite the fact that he was now providing for the both of them, his sister still had not given up her craft. She was still always trying to keep herself busy.

He reached the door with a hammering heart. He didn't know quite why he was nervous. Probably because he was doing this behind his sister's back. Telling himself that he would return before she would even know, he pulled back the metal bolt and froze. The sharp sound echoed through the house like the reverberation of a bell.

He paused for a moment, hearing the rhythmic thump of blood in his ears as he waited to see if the noise had been noticed. Silence. Letting out a breath, he opened the door letting the cold air wash over him.

Link stepped forward. An arm shot out from beside him, blocking his path. He swallowed, not needing to turn his head to know who it was.

"Going somewhere?" Mystral said, one eyebrow arched on her plain, but dignified face. Her golden hair was still hanging loose, obviously not having the time to prepare herself yet. She sighed, before continuing, "Is it too much to ask you to finish your chores before you rush out? Or are you too special for even that?"

Link was used to the tone in her voice. He had heard it many times, if not from his sister, then Jonah, Kisho, Bannock or Fran. Sometimes he thought he would go mad because of it. There was something else in her voice this time though. A hint of regret, her last words a veiled attack on what he did as a profession.

"No, of course not," he said, squirming under her gaze. It was amazing that he, a somewhat skilled hired killer, could be cowed so easily. He was probably the only assassin in the world that had to attend to chores as well. He studied her face, noticing the lines etched there. Thirty summers old and not yet wed, Link felt a sudden stab of pity for his only remaining member of family. She looked tired and not just because of the time of day. She looked tired of life. Always she would put up with the worst, acting as a rock that kept him tethered down to reality. "It's just that today's a special day. Not everyday we see a coronation."

Her face softened with a smile. "I know, Link. But we can go to the festival together, I promise you. There's still plenty of time. Please?"

He stepped back, a relenting look floating on to his face. "Yes, alright," he said, adding a little mock-hurt to his tone.

"And _you,_" she continued, turning her blue eyes towards Bannock, "should know better."

Bannock was forbidden to appear invisible in Mystral's presence. She said it unnerved her that he could watch her unnoticed, especially as she was an unmarried woman. Link found that a little strange. Why would a bird be interested in watching a Hylian woman? Still. Neither could argue against Mystral. They could swoop down and pick off targets at will, but they both cowered in front of Link's sister.

"I am but his humble servant," the bird replied melodramatically. "Where he goes, I go."

It wasn't long before Link fell into his usual routine. Wrapping himself in an extra thick cloak, he made his way to the back of the house, pausing to give his greetings to his neighbours in the Hylian Quarter, and found the pair of brown cows that belonged to the both of them. Perching himself upon a wobbly stool, he kicked a dented tin bucket under one of the animals and began milking away with easy familiarity. The cow eyed him with mild disinterest as she chewed on some straw, her glassy eyes like deep brown eggs.

Next he went to the water pump, pushing down on the lever as it groaned in protest before releasing its goods. The smell of baked bread wafted over the air, and Link heard Mystral banging pots and chopping vegetables from inside. He then walked down the long, dusty path that ran through the centre of the Hylian Quarter. There were various shops and stalls lining either side of the path, coverings made of animal skins hanging over the entrances like a swollen upper lip. A wide grin planted firmly on his face, Link tried not to laugh while Bannock flew overhead, unseen, knocking off caps and ruffling hair. The young Hylian entered the bakery to buy a sack of flour and heaved it across his back as he made his way home.

The sun, pale and almost ghostly, was already high in the sky. Link would have completed his tasks a lot more quickly had he not paused to study every trivial thing that had caught his eye. If it wasn't watching a rainbow coloured lizard crawling up a wall, or admiring the new wooden platform being erected in the middle of the square for the day's festivities, then he would simply gaze at the towering sight of Castle Dragmire as it loomed over the city like a shadowy guardian, its many towers spiking the sky. Constructed of emerald marble, the Castle had the appearance of having been carved out of a vine coloured jewel. It stood in the centre of the metropolis, hemmed in by the largest enclave in the city, where the Calatians resided. Link didn't think too hard about this segregation of races, seeing it as natural having grown up with it. To him, the only difference between Calatians and Hylians were that there were far more of the former than the latter, and that the Calatians had a strange curve to their ears unlike the more angular edge that immediately made a Hylian stand out. He knew, though, that other people did consider minor differences between races as issues of great importance.

When he arrived back at the house, he found Mystral ready, dressed in a long, deep blue gown. One of her own constructions, no doubt. He was pleasantly surprised to see that she was wearing a wide, genuine smile – a rare sight for his sister nowadays. Annoying her by refusing to dress into something more suitable, he held out his arm as they began their walk to the town's square. Mystral was almost skipping like a young girl, and Link grinned at the sight. They sang a song together, one that Mystral said their mother had sung to them, and people looked up, smiling, as they were taken by the infectious happiness.

Soon they arrived at the town's square, where a bustling crowd was forming.

Some of the entertainers had arrived already, juggling spheres that shifted colour in the light or spitting fire through hoops. The children ooh-ed and aah-ed, and Link and Mystral couldn't help but smile. They pushed their way through the jostling mass of well-dressed people, the light chatter mixing with laughter and gasps of astonishment in the air. Link's heart swelled in reaction to all the happy faces that caught his eye.

"I know a trick," Bannock said from above them.

"Oh?" Link replied, looking up.

"Yes," the bird continued, his voice lined with a sly frost. "The astonishingly beautiful bird that appears from nowhere." His beak curved into a grin. "I do believe I'd be a big hit."

"Hey, Link!" The young man turned his head to the sound of the voice, seeing the approach of a grinning Hylian, dressed in green with tinkling bells hanging off the sleeves. "Stop looking at the sky. You're not off daydreaming again, are you?"

"No, Tom," Link replied with a laugh. The man with the coal-black hair before him was of the Treysor family, one of their neighbours. "You're in good spirits."

"Aren't we all?" Tom said with a smile. "This is so exciting. The King is taking young Montero around all the Quarters. He's going to be here in the Hylian section soon." He turned his attention to Mystral and his smile grew wider. "You're looking very radiant today."

Link's sister did not take the bait. "Unlike you," she said with a sour voice. "Whoever made your clothes needs an arrow through their head."

Tom laughed; his face showing no sign that he was offended in the slightest. "I'll see you both later," he said. "Have a good time."

"You too, Tom," Link replied.

A pair of giggling maidens drew the young man's eyes away from the entertainers. Dressed in pink, they saw Link's stare and huddled, laughing harder. He smiled at them, not sure if they were laughing out of embarrassment or out of pity. They were pretty though, with soft, round faces. His imagination raced, trying to dream up a personality for each of them. The one on the left, he decided, would be soft and eager to please. The one on the right would wait by the door, in wide-eyed fear, for him to return from another dangerous assignment. Both images were comforting.

A sour tug pulled at his heart. He'd had hopes on Crystal Lynn, one of the young maidens near his house, courting her under Mystral's disapproving eyes. He'd thought that Lynn was also made entirely from sugar and had been dismayed when, one day, she had laughed cruelly saying, 'But I don't want an orphan boy! What would my father think? We need to aim higher in society. I'm destined for greater things.' Link's eyes narrowed at the burning memory. It reminded him of Fran's never ending lectures to him.

Her father was a pompous, shallow man and sometimes, deep in the night, Link wished the man was his squadron's next hit so that he could find a million and one ways to kill him. It wasn't so much that the man had slighted Link, but more because he had once called Mystral an unmarriageable beast, grinning all the while.

He was broken out of his musings by his sister sharply clearing her throat. He looked up at her stern eyes.

"They're not good for you, Link," she said. When he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a smile saying, "Trust me. I know how the female mind works." Her words evaporated from his mind as he caught sight of another girl, clothed in a pale green dress that matched her eyes. "And the male mind, too," Mystral added with a shake of her head.

He wasn't listening. A girl with jade eyes was a rare thing, a fine catch for any young man. Naturally, her dowry would be stupendously high. He was glad Mystral was here, a ready-made chaperone so tongues wouldn't start wagging. He stepped forward, thinking of something witty to say to her, when he felt something smooth under the sole of his boot.

"Oh, Link," his sister said with a sigh as they both looked at the pile of manure he had just stepped in to. Link grimaced, wiping his foot against the earth hastily.

A commotion near the stage made the throng of people fall into sudden silence. The sound of horns rang out, signifying the arrival of the King and the Prince Regent. Everyone strained forward on their toes to catch a glimpse. Link grinned as he saw Ganondorf march onto the platform, making the wooden planks shake. He turned and waved at the people as Montero, dressed in a white tunic and golden cloak, followed suit. Cheers erupted as the duo sat down in their specially designed chairs, their servants rushing around them. Link saw a young, silver haired woman take her place behind the King's chair, one hand resting on its back.

Link shifted his gaze to Montero, not having met the Prince yet in his career. The younger Dragmire's shared the same green skin with his father, but his was smoother and with no cracks. Something about his eyes made Link gulp involuntarily. They were hard, and dull with bored amusement. It dawned on the assassin that this was to be his new liege from this day on in, and he still didn't know how exactly he felt about that.

The actual coronation would be held in the evening in the castle itself. Now was just a show for the people to express their affection. People chanted the Dragmire name, children threw, long, brightly coloured ribbons in the air and more of those giggling maidens threw flowers onto the stage, one or two of them no doubt wanting to catch the King-to-be's eye.

The entertainers took over; acrobats performing elaborate acts in the air, jumping from an elastic animal skin covered platform to another. The jesters and fools made jokes that, while full of praise for both the King and the Prince, that were not really amusing, but the light-hearted atmosphere made the people laugh anyway. Link looked over at his sister, pleased at the engrossed expression on her face. Finally, she had something frivolous to lift the thoughts from her mind, instead of throwing herself into a new task.

"And now…introducing…Sheik of the Sheikahs!"

Link's head snapped back towards the stage at the sound of the announcer's voice. Silence fell on the crowd like a blanket as a cannon was rolled rumbling onto the platform. At the far end, a little boy stood, an apple sitting on his head. He turned and waved at the people with a grin, the action making the fruit almost wobble off the top of his head. Someone at the back of the stage threw him a harsh rebuke and a ripple of laughter spread through the massed throng. Frowning, Link peered forwards trying to find a clearer sight, his curiosity piqued.

A cloud of thick, black smoke accompanied the cannon's loud ignition and all eyes followed the blue-clad figure that had been shot into the air. The young man somersaulted, flipping two thin blades into his hands that caught the sun's light with a flash. He landed onto his feet daintily and threw the knives one by one. They slashed through the fruit, drawing out juice that trickled onto the boy's head. There was a moment's pause before the apple fell apart in four, neatly quartered sections.

The crowd cheered and Sheik took a bow. Link was impressed. It took a lot of practice to be that accurate. He clapped heartily along with the others, his eyes not leaving the young entertainer's face. He watched as Sheik stepped off the stage, catching a towel that someone threw at him and rubbing his face. Another act captured the people's eyes, and no one noticed as Sheik walked slowly, but deliberately, towards one of the food stalls.

The young entertainer's head turned cautiously from side to side as he scanned the crowd. Lightening quick, his arm snapped out and he grabbed a loaf of bread from the stall. Link blinked. It had happened so fast that he thought he'd imagined it.

"Hey," he said, quietly at first and then with more conviction as he realised what had happened. "Hey!"

"Link…?" Mystral said, her eyes still distracted by the spectacle on the stage.

No one heard Link's cry. No one, that is, except Sheik himself, whose head snapped up in his direction. Not waiting for him to raise the alarm, Sheik spun on his heel and ran. Link pushed through the people, his sense of justice ignited, as Mystral called his name frantically.

"Bannock!" he called. "Stay with my sister!"

He heard the bird flap his wings and then pushed his own legs faster as the path became clear. Seeing the blue flash of the entertainer in the distance, Link climbed up the steel poles that held up the animal skins that hung over various stalls. Another day and another chase, Link leapt from cover to cover as he tried to catch up to the fleeing thief. Sheik threw a glance over his shoulder, his eyes widening as he saw what Link what was doing. The assassin felt a flicker of satisfaction at having caught the other man off guard.

"Here, lad!" Link turned to see one shopkeeper, one of the few people that had stayed away from the festival, throw a rope towards him. Leaping off of another cover, Link caught the rope in mid-air, shouting his thanks as he landed on yet another pale coloured animal skin that sagged under his weight. Tying a quick knot without even looking down, he formed a lasso with the cord and continued to jump.

Sheik spun around, overturning stalls that, in turn, tore the covering skins above with a wet rip, hoping to impede Link's path. The entertainer jumped, spinning in the air and then landing on a horse. He snapped his head towards Link for an instant, a gleam in his narrowed eyes. Pulling at the reins sharply, he cut the tether with a fluid swipe of a blade. Link threw his rope, not having the time to think about his actions, and watched as it curled around the ride's neck.

The horse tugged and Link's grim sense of satisfaction turned to shock as he found himself being violently pulled to the ground and then dragged through the streets, churning up a cloud of dust. His skin burned, and his head knocked against sharp rocks, drawing blood, but he refused to let go, knowing that if he did, he would lose his prey. Sheik turned the struggling animal sharply, and Link careened through more steel poles, knocking them down with a clatter and sending shooting pains up his spine.

He caught sight of Sheik's worried expression as the entertainer frantically tried to cut at the rope around the horse's neck, seemingly worried more for the animal's safety than his own. Seeing the thief in a distracted stated, Link reached down for his crossbow, hissing in pain as his knuckles skinned against the ground. Finally, his fingers curled around the familiar shape of his weapon and he pulled it up, trying to aim as he jerked sharply from side to side.

Link flicked a switch, and the crossbow whirred, pushing an arrow into position and tightening the string. He pulled the trigger, and the arrow flew with a buzz. It caught Sheik on the shoulder, and deflected away. Link cursed inwardly, but then froze, seeing that the blow and made the thief tumble to one side. Sheik fell, and Link let go of the rope, rolling with the momentum as pebbles and dust cut into his eyes and skin. Ignoring the dull throb of pain in his back, he leapt to his feet and with a few short strides he was pouncing on top of the young entertainer, roughly pinning his shoulders to the ground.

Sheik glared up at him, and Link noticed with mild interest that he was fair-haired and blue-eyed just like him.

"All this for a loaf of bread?" the entertainer spat.

Link opened his mouth to give a heated retort before his mind acknowledged the voice with a quiver of shock.

"You…" Link said, gasping. "You're a girl!"

"Yes, I am," she replied angrily. "And I'd appreciate it if you would get _off_ of me."

Link felt his cheeks burn as he realised the position he was in, and hastily got to his feet, clearing his throat with embarrassment. Sheik stood slowly, breathing heavily and brushing herself off.

Her eyes looked him over, pausing when they got to his feet. Link groaned inwardly, realising the manure was still stuck there.

"Interesting boots," she said, scorn lacing her voice.

Link took in a deep breath, trying to find his anger once again. It was _her_ that was in the wrong and not him, and he shouldn't be feeling guilty or at a disadvantage. "Why did you take the bread?" he blurted, not able to find anything else to say.

"To feed my family," she replied with a sigh. Though he could not see her face, the sound of her voice had a youthful tilt to it. She might be no more older than himself. "Why else would I?"

"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "Don't they pay you enough for being an entertainer?"

"You're not as intelligent as you look, it seems," she said, a smile in her voice. "And no they don't. Besides, I have a large family."

A young boy watched them from across the street, his eyes wide with fear. His gaze pinned them, but his legs trembled, ready to flee. Curiosity obviously won out and he did not run.

Sheik whistled at him. "Hey, little boy," she called. The youngster took a few tentative steps out into the path. With a flick of her wrist, Sheik threw the bread. It spun threw the air before the child caught it with both hands and a wide grin. Sheik winked. "Remember to share it, you hear?"

The boy nodded quickly, before running off, eager to be away before she changed her mind.

Sheik shook her head. "By the One, Unseen..." she muttered. Her eyes flicked back to Link. "Are you happy now?"

"I think so," the young man said, not entirely sure how he should act.

She studied him further. "You went to all this trouble just to stop a common thief?" Link was surprised as the quiet tenderness in her voice now. It stirred something in his soul. "You must have a pure heart." There was a smile mixed with regret in her tone.

Link let out a tiny laugh. "No, not really," he said. "You don't know me. You don't know what I am."

She took a step back, the expression in her eyes changing. "Can I leave now, or do you want to leap on me some more?" She cocked her head to one side. "You should be ashamed of yourself, you know. What would your mother think?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Boys these days have no manners."

He didn't know what his mother would think, but he could hear Mystral's voice in his head already, chiding him for being alone with a female. Again, Link was caught off-guard, but his indignation about the theft was swept aside by a new interest in this strange young woman. "Yes, you can go," he said. "Just…just don't do it again."

Sheik snorted and Link felt his cheeks redden once more. "Yes, _sir,_" she said, as she began to move away.

"Wait," he said, stepping forward. He was caught by an urge he couldn't explain, and he would never know exactly why he said the next few words. "Can I see your face?"

Her eyes arched. "Would you have asked if you still thought I was male?"

Confusion whirled around Link's head, but before he could reply, she had already broke into a run.

"Perhaps we'll meet again," she called. "Or do I have to steal something before I can get your attention?" A light laugh floated from her lips.

Link watched her go, his heart feeling heavy, though he didn't exactly know why, before he turned around to head back to the square.

...

There was a feast in honour of the Coronation that night and the Royal Red Order was invited, along with all the other squadrons of the Assassins League. Link's group took a table to themselves, as serving boys, no older than Link himself, weaved in and out, refilling empty mugs and replacing used platters with new ones piled high with steaming food. He wished, with a pang of regret, Mystral had been allowed to join them, but knew that she had enjoyed the rest of the festival and was now drifting into an exhausted, but happy sleep. She had, though, chided him for running off. Link hadn't explained to her about the theft. Something inside prevented him from doing so, and it puzzled him.

Link had tried to keep himself from yawning during the whole ceremony, and had received a sly kick from Jonah for his troubles. There had been long, winding speeches and tributes from governors from far off places, words of praise that spoke of Greater Calatia's new fortune and hopes for a prosperous future. Ganondorf had slowly lifted his crown and placed it on a cushion held by Royal Bearers before the priest gently took it and fixed it around Montero's head. Much to Link's disgust, there had followed another long reading of rites, though he did notice that the new King looked just as bored, despite his smirk. Finally, it had all ended and the food had been brought out.

Link glanced around the room, a little over-awed. He'd never seen so much food before. As soon as one plate was empty, another took its place in a fluid movement. The lanterns burned with hot light, reflecting off the polished glasses and making them glitter in people's hands. It was eye-watering. Sometimes, Link would feel eyes upon him, and he had to be quick to see who was looking at him. He saw distracted, but bemused, stares that would linger for a heartbeat then move on. He knew why they were looking at him. He was one of the few Hylians in the room.

Feeling a little forlorn, he searched out for others and spied Deck, one of the Hylian Elders at one of the tables, his well-built frame calm, the leather straps of his tunic shining in the light, indicating their freshness. He must have had the clothes made just for this occasion. Deak looked up at Link and smiled with a nod. Link returned the gesture, hoping that the Elder wouldn't be wondering why exactly he was here. He'd always liked Deak, the kindly old man always taking the time out to rest little Link on his knees and tell him stories when others had shooed him away, telling him not to bother them.

On the Grand Table where the important people sat, Link saw Servion Boarhound, the Hylian Chief, deep in quiet conversation with the new King. Once or twice, the Hylian would look around as though he were on his guard. The Chief caught Link looking at him and his narrowed eyes flashed in warning. Link swallowed, turning away quickly.

Link ate slowly, passing the time by knocking his mug across to Jonah, who flicked it back, spinning.

"Would you two please stop that?" Kisho said in exasperation.

The two younger ones hung their heads. "Yes, sir," Link said.

The Commander sighed. "It would be my fate to have children under my command."

"I am not a child," Rivero protested as he tore into a hunk of meat.

"No?" Kisho said, winking at the two young ones. "Sometimes you act like one."

Link and Jonah laughed as Rivero glowered at all three of them.

"You still haven't told us, Link," the Commander continued, nodding at the bruises on the younger man's face and hands, "how exactly you got those?"

Though his mind still dwelt on the encounter earlier in the day, he did not want to speak about it. The only reason he had joined his fellow assassins at the feast was to get away from Mystral, who was furious at his refusal to explain what had happened. At the same time he wished she were here too. He sighed inwardly.

"Just," he replied with a shrug. "I fell off a horse."

Noting the disbelieving looks in their eyes and desperately wanting to change the subject, he added, "Does anyone know what a Sheikah is?"

"A Sheikah," Kisho repeated, rubbing his chin in thought. "An ancient race. From when the land was known as Hyrule. They've been long extinct though." He looked over at Link. "Why do you ask? Seeing the entertainer today made you curious?"

"That act was certainly an eye-opener," Rivero added in a gruff voice.

"Yes," Link said, hoping his tone would not give anything away. "He was good."

Jonah cleared his throat, pushing his plate away. The others turned to him. "Commander," he said, flicking a quick glance at Link. "Have you made an evaluation on Link's Test yet?"

"Ha!" Rivero said, taking a sip from his drink. "I thought that would be obvious."

Kisho threw him an annoyed look. "As a matter of fact, I have." Link swallowed as the Commander's grave expression came to rest on him. A heartbeat passed and Link thought the air itself was thickening and time was slowing." Congratulations, my boy, you're a fully fledged assassin!"

Link's face split into a grin, reflecting the ones on Kisho's and Jonah's faces, as relief washed over him, making his shoulders sag. Jonah shook his fist in victory, biting his lip as he tried to stop himself from shouting with joy. The two younger men clasped hands, and Link felt a dream-like sense of happiness dizzy him. For the briefest of moments, he stared at Kisho with a look of pure adoration. At that point, he bitterly wished that his Commander was his father. Kisho caught the intensity in Link's stare and began to fidget, looking uncomfortable.

"What?" Rivero said, dropping his spoon. "I protest. He didn't even kill the target. He exposed us to the public."

Kisho shrugged, fixing the big man with a calm, but steely gaze. "He made a decision when put under pressure. Whether it was right or wrong is irrelevant. He managed to stay calm and reach a conclusion instead of panicking and putting us in danger," he said. "I think that warrants a suitable reward, don't you?"

Rivero held his gaze for a moment, one muscle twitching in his cheek. Even Link was slightly puzzled by Kisho's reasoning. He certainly thought they might have been put in danger if the Harkinian had a weapon. Still. The Commander probably thought that they had the prey well covered.

Rivero turned back to his meal. "Yes, sir."

"Good, I'm glad you think so," the Commander said quietly. A movement from down the Hall made him look up. Link saw the elder man's face tighten as Bailey Greendannich, the head of the Blue Order, approached with a lop sided grin fixed on his face.

"Coldsnare," Bailey said, referring to Kisho by his family name. "Look at you. Your situation fills me with pity."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Kisho said, his eyes narrowing on Bailey's hand as it clasped his shoulder.

"I think you do," Bailey replied. "The most promising student at the Academy. You could have had any squadron to command in the whole country. And now look at you. You command a big oaf and two children." Bailey's eyes drifted to Link. "One of which happens to be a dirty Hylian."

Link felt himself rise from his chair almost unconsciously. A fierce look from his Commander stilled him, though he couldn't still the angry beating of his heart.

Kisho looked up at the other man. "You'll be pleased to know," he said. "That Link here is our newest assassin."

Bailey's hand fell from the Commander's shoulder in shock. "Are you insane?"

"No," Kisho replied and Link could hear the creeping smugness in his voice. "The youngest to pass the Test." The Commander's eyes flicked to the table where Bailey's squadron sat, their faces scarred and weary. "I see you still have some who have passed their thirtieth summer, but still are not ready to take the Test." Kisho licked his lips, sensing triumph. "I guess they're just not as good as our 'dirty Hylian' here."

Bailey hissed, moving away, as Rivero tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh, and started coughing up food. Kisho winked at Link, and the youngster grinned, feeling a surge of love.

Another pair of figures approached their table and the smile fell from the Commander's face when he recognised them.

"The King approaches," he said. "Prepare yourselves."

Instantly the four of them straightened their backs, quickly wiping crumbs and fallen bits of food off the table. Ganondorf stopped at their table, Montero by his side.

"At ease," the former King said.

Kisho bowed his head slightly. "An honour for you to grace us like this," he said, forcing well-trained formality into his voice.

Ganondorf smiled, his voice appearing to drown out all other noise in the room. It was, Link knew, just his imagination, but it certainly seemed that real. When the Gerudo spoke, everyone listened. "I have a bigger honour for you and your men," he replied.

The Commander did not say anything. He just waited with a raised eyebrow.

"The new King," Ganondorf continued, "needs a little field experience." Link saw Kisho's face twitch slightly. They both knew where this was going. "I would like him to accompany your squadron for a while. He can train with you at nights and join you on your next mission."

Link stared at his feet, a haze of shyness preventing him from looking directly up at Ganondorf. He was still eternally grateful to the Gerudo for rescuing him and his sister both from the bandits and from poverty. He didn't feel like this in front of anyone else and felt a little angry with himself. Tapping his fingers on the table, Link felt awkward, the fluttering laughter from other tables suddenly sounding all too loud. He dared to glance up at Montero, wondering why the other man was so quiet. The new King's face was expressionless, though one corner of his mouth did seem to be curled in semi-contempt.

Kisho licked his lips, obviously not expecting the announcement. "Sire, our profession is a dangerous one," he said cautiously. "It may not be wise to expose a new King to such danger."

Ganondorf's eyes hardened. "That is why I trust completely in your ability to keep him safe."

They held each other's gaze for an instant. For one heart-stopping moment Link thought he could see the glint of a challenge in Kisho's eyes. Finally, the Commander sighed, knowing when he was beaten. "As you wish, Sire."

"Good," the old King said with a grin. "He can start in two night's time."

Kisho turned back to them, clearly unhappy, as Ganondorf and the new King moved away to receive more sycophantic and hollow congratulations.

The joyful atmosphere at their table had evaporated. They waited in silence as their Commander played with his food.

"Another child added to the ranks," Rivero said finally with a dry voice. Kisho scowled back at him.

They looked up as a cry came from one end of the Hall. Turning, they saw a crowd begin to form around one of the large windows, the food momentarily forgotten. Astonished looks painted their faces, and some others were wide-eyed with fear. Link looked over at Jonah who shrugged in response. He glanced at Kisho, who responded with a short nod. Pulling away from the table, Link ran over to the mass of people, Jonah joining him quickly.

People were gasping and pointing at something outside. Link peered, trying to see. There were too many people in the way, their ruffled tunics blocking his sight and their heavy perfume making him dizzy. Then he caught it.

A dark shadow was swallowing the moon, as if someone had spilt black ink over the shining orb. Slowly it crept across the grey-white cratered surface as the people watched, stunned. It wasn't long before the entire moon was engulfed, with only a pale ring of light peeking out from the gloom.

"What is it?" someone said.

"What does it mean?" someone else called.

"It means," a voice rang out, chilling Link with the grim conviction he heard within it. "That darkness is about to fall."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Now."

In response to her command, the flaming arrow hurtled through the air, illuminating the ground in its path and leaving a glowing trail in the air. It struck the bottom of the castle's gate, igniting the powdered explosives that they had hidden there. An eruption of flame curled out into the night sky, and the drawbridge fell with a protesting scream.

Sheik snapped her fingers. "Go."

The others moved, melting in and out of the shadows as they ran firing their crossbows. Confused shouts rang out from within the castle, but soon the guards were out, meeting their foe with weapons drawn as the drawbridge shook from the fighting. Gurgling screams pierced the air, soldiers with glistening wounds collapsing into the dark moat below with a splash. One eye on what was happening, Sheik was heartened to see that the men were strictly keeping to her orders and not injuring the soldiers too badly. The fallen guards thrashed about in the water, churning up a whirlpool of froth, as they struggled to swim to safety. They'd live.

She was glad that the powder had worked. They had spent months raising the funds needed for it, and she had had to silence protests from her family members that saw this attack as a foolish venture. It was true that nothing too significant would be gained from this, but if she were to be successful this night, it would be a moral and symbolic victory. Especially since this was Coronation night.

And then it happened. _Not now_, she moaned to herself. The world focused in and out, and dread clutched her heart in a vice as the whispers came. Prodding at the edge of her consciousness, they spoke in strange tongues, words that she didn't understand. They ran in her veins, tickling her mind and wrapping themselves around her heart. Like rhythmic chanting sighs they breathed in and out in time to the beating of her heart. Just as quickly as they came, they vanished, leaving her in a cold sweat. Steeling herself, Sheik moved on, pushing the memory away.

Running to the edge of the moat, she started to spin the rope in her hand, watching as the grappling hook attached to the end chopped through the cold air. With a yell, she threw, and was pleased to hear the metallic clunk of the hook catching on something above. She pulled at the rope, testing its firmness. Satisfied, she flung a glance downwards, noticing the large chunks of ice floating lazily in the water below. Building up speed with a small run, she launched herself, swinging in towards the castle's wall.

She struck the dark green marble with her feet and wasted no time, pulling herself up as quickly as possible as she heard the whisper of other ropes being thrown into the air. Her eyes caught sight of the moon as the dark shadow sloughed itself off of it, but she had no time to think on that now. Finding the room she was looking for she hit the window with her elbow. It cracked on the first strike, spreading a spider's web of fractures through it, and smashed on the second. She turned, seeing one of her men reach the room at another window and nodded at him before swinging in.

Her eyes took in the room, a stab of unexpected envy prodding her as she saw the rich carpets and the expensive furniture. There was a table in the middle, made of gold and covered in polished crystal that glittered in the dark. She shook her head at the extravagance and resisted the temptation to smash it. Another urge was in her soul too, slightly stronger than the other. The urge to take something, anything, even a tiny, expensive trinket. It would go a long way to help feed her family. But she knew it would be recognised easily and they'd be caught just as quickly. She shook the idea away.

A gasp of pain made her look up in fright and she saw that her fellow Harkinian – a distant cousin – had cut himself while trying to break the window. She spun, feeling her heel dig into the carpet, and ran towards him without thinking, her instinctive desire to help taking over, but he waved her away.

She swallowed, not really wanting to back off. She hated seeing others in pain.

"There's no time," he said, his expression serious.

They both pulled off the large pouches tied to their backs and reached in, emerging with two long, slender, metallic cylinders. They turned the pouches upside down and each one expelled a metal stake and hammer.

"Ready?" her cousin asked, as they rushed back to the windows.

"Ready" she replied.

Sheik stuck her head out of the broken window and peered up. Driving the stake into the wall above with the hammer, she squinted as small shards of marble rained down on her face. When the stake was secure, she dove back in, picking up her part of the cylinder. She pulled out a small string from the metal tube and used it to hang the canister onto the stake. It dangled there, gently buffeted by the icy breeze. Looking over to her left, she saw that her cousin had done the same. They pushed the two tubes together and they connected with a click. Flicking a switch at her side of the cylinder, they both opened and two, large animal-skin canvasses unravelled with a whirr, covering most of the castle wall.

"Let's go," she said.

Grabbing their ropes once more, they slid down, the palm fibre burning into their hands. When they reached the bottom, they kicked at the wall and swung outwards, the canvas lifting as they creased into it. They let go when land appeared under their feet, and the canvas fell back to the wall, the ropes swinging uselessly under it.

Her cousin grabbed at her sleeve, insistent that they both leave now, but she paused, standing her ground and looking up. She wanted to admire her handiwork. Draping the front of the castle like a garment, the large canvas displayed the triple triangular shapes that signified the symbol of the Harkinian family. Painted at the bottom in blood red letters were the words 'We are watching.' Some of the Elders in her family hand frowned over that, claiming it to be a childish addition. She didn't care, though she didn't really want to hurt them either.

The glow of lanterns slowly appeared in the castle windows, one by one, as confused and angry shouts reverberated in the air.

Putting her fingers to her mouth, she let free a shrill whistle, signifying the time for retreat. They ran, all of them, but Sheik's heart galloped with malicious glee. She couldn't help herself and stopped to have one last look, her cousin waiting also. The usurpers would get a somewhat nasty surprise from this. Already, some of the lights of the town were flickering to life as people poured out of their houses to see what the commotion was.

Sheik grinned, turning to leave, her light laughter catching in the air before floating away.

Abruptly she stopped short, almost falling to the ground. Her cousin reached for her in fear, but she yanked out of his grasp. The whispers were back in her mind again, hissing. The voices were stretched and elongated, a ghostly echo that pulsed in her soul.

"What's the matter?" he croaked, his trembling hand desperately wanting to move forwards and assist her.

The voices rolled around her head and she felt their weight, cold and ancient.

"Nothing," she gasped as, finally, the whispers started to fade. "Let's go."

...

"I don't understand," Montero said as he lounged in the Throne. A serving girl stood beside him, grinning as she popped small fruits into his mouth. She acted coy, giggling whenever he smiled up at her. A table had been set up on the other side from the girl, and one of Montero's friends, a balding youth whose gut spilled out from under his tunic, sat with a card game in his hand. From time to time, the new King, gripping his own cards in his hand until they bent, would turn to him to play his move.

Impa paced in front of the Throne, resisting the urge to curl her hand into a fist. She knew if she did that, she might just strike all three of them. With Ganondorf resting in his chambers, this was her first official meeting with Montero Dragmire. She wished it were under less serious circumstances. The new King's features were smooth, his skin a paler shade of green, a result of the mix between his Gerudo father and Calatian mother. They were almost, if you looked at them from a certain angle, handsome. At least that's what Impa thought. Perhaps she had been thinking too much again.

"What is it they want again?" he continued.

She stopped, spinning on her heel. Was the boy completely ignorant? Did he know nothing about his own family's history?

Impa sighed, pushing the snarl away from her voice. "They want what you're sitting in now, _Sire_," she said. Montero wasn't paying attention. He took another of the small fruits into his mouth, giving the girl a look that was almost sickening in its lechery. He flung another card down on the table too, a bored gesture. Impa ground her teeth together and counted to ten. She felt that she would explode in anger. She could not resist her next words. "They would like nothing better than to slit your stomach, hang you by your intestines and dance happily on your remains." Her voice continued to rise, trying to force the point home. "They want to rule, pure and simple."

The words did not have the desired effect. Montero did not look in the least bit bothered. His eyes flicked up and down, taking her in. She wanted to shiver in disgust.

He leaned forward, licking his lips. "Come over here," he said quietly.

Impa folded her arms across her chest, but did not move. "No."

Montero sniffed, cocking his head to one side. "You always obeyed my father."

Her eyes grew hard as she stared at him. Ganondorf Dragmire would never ask her for anything inappropriate. "Yes," she said, her tone indicating that the topic of conversation was over. Impa knew that the serving girl was giving her a hateful look, but she made a point of ignoring her.

The King leaned back in his chair. "How did they get past our defences?"

This was something that grated at her soul, since the castle's security was under her jurisdiction. "We were caught off-guard. Our soldiers were too busy with the Coronation." It embarrassed her to admit it, seeing as how she usually oversaw such matters, and with meticulous care too.

"Shouldn't a day as important as that demand a more alert presence?" he asked.

She was surprised at his perceptiveness. Looking into his eyes, she tried to search for a hint of buried intelligence. Perhaps she had underestimated him?

"Whoever was responsible for our lapse," she continued, "will be punished." Impa knew it would be difficult since, if she was being truly honest, the blame lay firmly with her. She had not expected the Harkinians to attempt something so audacious. They were a small group and scattered throughout the land. A frontal attack like this one made no sense, especially as there was little to gain from it except humiliating the Dragmires. Humiliation, she knew, could turn to rage, and a rage with royal weight behind it could turn into something very dangerous.

"What was that symbol on the canvas?" Montero asked. "What does it mean? The three triangles?"

Again, his line of questioning unsettled her. He had gazed at the emblem with calm detachment, while Ganondorf had seethed beside him. The strings had been cut and the cylinders had tumbled into the moat below with a crash.

"A myth," she replied. "Three mystical artefacts. The Triforce of Courage, the Triforce of Wisdom and the Triforce of Power. Whoever obtained them would have access to untold strength. They were said to be a sign of authority many summers ago."

Impa saw a light ignite in Montero's eyes. "And do these three 'Triforce' still exist now?"

She shrugged. "I don't know," she replied truthfully. "Like I said, a myth."

"A myth," he repeated with a nod, rolling the words around his mouth. "Why is it so important to them?"

"They were once the guardians of the Triforce," she explained. "It belonged to them."

Montero threw back his head with a laugh. "Hylians had a source of power like that?" he said incredulously. "Now I _know_ it's a myth."

"A Gerudo held the Triforce of Power once," Impa said, and immediately regretted it. She should not have let him irritate her so easily.

It was too late though. The King's eyes twinkled with interest. "Is that so?" he asked quietly. "How do you know so much about this?"

Impa felt a knot of disquiet in her heart. She did not want to tell him anything. "Oh, just some scrolls," she said as casually as possible. "They're nothing really. Probably just works of fiction."

He wasn't swayed. "What scrolls? Where?" he demanded. Impa did not reply. "Come on, woman. You must have found all this out from _somewhere._"

Impa sighed, defeated. "There are scrolls in the Great Library here in the Castle itself. They detail histories and prophecies."

Montero grinned in victorious satisfaction. "Bring them to me."

"Why?" she snapped, still feeling reluctant. "There's nothing in there for you."

He leaned forward, his eyes bulging. "Well, maybe I need to review my history."

"It's a mistake to search out the Triforce," she said, desperate.

"You said it was a myth," he replied, a smug smile still carved on his face. He had cornered her, and she hated him for it.

"You don't need power," she continued. "You're the King."

"But," he said in sly voice. "If it's so important to the Harkinians and I possess it, then I have power over _them_, do I not?"

Impa was caught by surprise by his insightfulness yet again. "Maybe," she replied stubbornly.

"Besides," he continued. "If it belonged to the Gerudo before, it should belong to them again. The emblem of the Harkinians should not signify a worthless race like the Hylians but, instead, should represent the greatness of the Gerudo."

That racial pride again. Impa hated it, loathed how it infiltrated their society. It was strange, though; that this half-Calatian King should be so interested in recovering the nobility of the long-dead race his father belonged to.

Montero was gone again, this time his attention focused on stroking the serving girl's hand. Impa only hoped that his infatuation with the Triforce would be equally as shallow. The King looked back at her, as though it was the first time he had seen her.

"Why don't you be a good little girl," he said, his royal voice dropping. "And find me those scrolls. I feel the urge for some light reading."

Impa nodded, keeping up the appearance of a loyal subject while inside she felt the burn of irritation. Turning to leave the Throne room she wondered what she could do to turn this situation to her advantage.

...

The murmur of voices hummed around the Hylian Meeting House, a bubble of chatter that rose above the huddled people like heated air. They sat in groups; waiting within the four wooden walls that curved up to the domed ceiling, light blue paint peeling. In the centre of the hall, rotating slowly with a gentle grinding sound, a pillar of marble stood, embedded diamonds giving off a twinkling haze. It was etched with elaborate carvings that detailed the history of the Hylian race.

Link pulled his eyes away, a little satisfied to see that there was no mention of any 'Hero of Time' in the patterned history. The base of the pillar, depicting the most ancient times, was lined with so many images that they criss-crossed over one another. As Link slowly raised his head he saw, with a tug of sadness, that the pictures grew fewer and fewer. About two-thirds of the way up, the last few etchings gave way to smooth, untouched marble that was the representation of modern times.

Turning around, Link scanned the room, looking for his friends. He spotted Mystral, sitting with Fran and Tom, as she hugged her legs. Link stepped around the other circles of people, flexing his fingers to bring some warmth back into them. He slid past the food sellers as they spooned out thick, steaming liquid into bowls of impatiently waiting Hylians. The meaty aroma tickled Link's nose. All around him people darted this way and that, some, like himself, hurrying towards their friends, others, like the children, scurrying around with jugs of water as impatient men raised their mugs waiting for them to be filled. There was a sense of irritated expectation in the air, as most people did not exactly know why they had been called to the House this day.

A familiar warmth grew in his heart as his gaze swept the room. Some people caught his eyes and would wave at him or smile or just merely nod. He knew most people here and most people knew him. He belonged here, in amongst the tight closeness between people, in the corners where some sat puffing on varnished pipes that sent clouds of sweet-smelling smoke into the air, with the shrieking children that took the meeting as an excuse to play, and he knew he could never leave them. His people.

"Link!" His head snapped towards the sound of the Deak's voice. The Hylian Elder sat in the centre of a group of people of varying ages, grinning, as he no doubt weaved more tales to his enchanted audience. Some of the older ones tried to shuffle in closer, but he shooed them away so that the children, their toothy grins wide from the attention, could sit by his feet, like a secret inner circle. Link's heart rose as he changed direction to meet the Elder.

"Deak," he said warmly. "How are you?" They clasped hands, the silver chains around Deak's wrist jangling.

"All's well," the Elder replied. "Come, sit."

Link threw an uneasy glance over to his friends. "I need to get back to my sister."

Deak nodded, his smile showing that he felt no offence. "Understandable." The man's eyes followed Link's gaze. "How is she? Found a husband for her yet?"

"No," Link said with a sigh. It was difficult for her to find a suitor when they had very little wealth and no position in society due to being orphans. Link felt the whisper of self-righteousness, but pushed it away. Before he had joined the Assassin's League they had been in poverty. It would be ungrateful to feel slighted now that they could afford to feed and clothe themselves. "Soon, I hope," he added with an optimistic smile.

"True," Deak said, ruffling the hair of a wide-eyed boy on his lap. "I saw you at the feast last night…?"

He left it hanging and Link knew that he was prodding, his curiosity awake. Swallowing, the young man's mind raced, trying to find a suitable reply. "I was invited by friends," he said, the lie feeling like tar on his heart.

Deak continued to watch him with cautious eyes. "They must have been some very good friends. Not many people received a special invite."

"They were," Link said simply, hoping that he could end the conversation here. The Elder continued to watch and Link felt the world close in on him, spinning. He hoped that his old friend didn't expect him to elaborate. Deak knew, though, that Link was usually a young man of very few words.

The Elder's eyes fell to Link's crossbow, hanging from his belt and occasionally bumping softly against his thigh. "Good weapon there," he said. "Well-made." He paused to look directly at Link's face. "Expensive."

Link hissed inwardly, his temples throbbing. How much did the old man suspect? And would he act on those very same suspicions?

"A gift," the young man said, feeling his heart crack from another deception. The modified crossbow was the property of the castle, given to him so that he could execute his duties better.

"From the same friends that got you an invite?" Deak said with a smile. He seemed to have ended his line of questioning. "I didn't know you had such illustrious companions, my boy."

Before Link could reply, the Elder waved him away. "Go back to your sister, she's waiting." The man's soft voice almost convinced Link that this would be the end of it, but he froze as the next words came, laced with a sly edge. "And I hope to meet these friends of yours one day."

Link nodded numbly before he turned away and walked on.

He hunched his shoulders as he came to sit down beside his sister, wondering why no fire had been lit against the chill. His friends' conversations melted away as they turned their attention to him. With an inward frown he realised that he had placed himself directly in the path of a window high in the wall, and the moonlight fell on his face, making him squint.

Fran looked up at him. "Learn anything?" he asked.

"Nothing I didn't already know," Link replied.

"That little?" Tom said with a grin. He was dressed a little more conservatively than he had at the festivities yesterday.

"Link, your tunic's too thin," Mystral said sternly. Her eyes looked him over. She was right, he knew, but he didn't think it was that important.

"I'll live," he replied.

"You'll fall ill," she said, a spark in her eyes. "Then I'll have to tend to you and feed you."

Tom's grin widened. "So, little change in your usual routine then?"

Mystral glared at him, and Fran took in a breath to speak. "She's right, lad," he said, his eyes on Link. "You should protect yourself against the cold."

Link sighed, tired of being talked down to. "I can take care of myself," he said. A stab of anger prompted him to continue. "More than any of you could."

Fran arched one eye as Mystral fixed him with a hot stare. He refused to meet her eyes, but he knew how foolish he was making himself look. Still, he couldn't bring himself to apologise. He felt a little sullen, unhappy that he had no one to share his victory with. Link had passed the Test, but he knew that neither Fran, nor Mystral would be very pleased about it. And Tom, of course, had no idea as to what he did. Sometimes, Link thought that his only real family were his fellow assassins.

Mystral pulled her scarf off from around her neck and wrapped it around Link, who remained sitting, unresisting. For a moment, Link thought she was going to lean across and kiss his cheek and he warned her off with a look. She laughed, shaking her head and Link felt a tug of shame for his treasonous thoughts doubting who his actual family were. She was all he had and he would fight to the death to protect her. It was that same ferocity, after all, that had led to him becoming an assassin.

"Thank you," he said softly, hoping the words would wash away his guilt. Mystral smiled back at him.

"Fran," his sister said with another smile. "I've cooked you something." She pushed a small pot, wrapped at the base with a thick cloth, over towards the elder man, whose eyes responded with a twinkle. Link's mouth curled; annoyed that Mystral had such a soft spot for the old man. It would only encourage him in his delusions.

"Ah," Fran replied. "Lass, my life is now complete." He winked.

There was a pause as he examined the dish, before his eyes flicked over to the youngster. "Link here thinks you're spoiling me," he said with an easy grin.

Link took in a sharp breath to utter his denial, irritated that the old man had read him so easily, but Fran's voice was quicker. "He's more uptight than a Freelander in a room full of Imps."

The young man frowned. "What's a Freelander?"

Before Fran could reply, the voices around them increased in volume. There was a stir beside the pillar and the people parted revealing the Hylian Chief, Servion Boarhound, and his entourage. Link looked up, noticing the Chief was dressed in his best tunic, rich black cloth rippling around his body. His friends turned their attention to the tall, black-haired man who had called for this meeting, sending out messengers before dawn had melted away the previous night. Link had a fair idea about what the Chief would be talking about.

Servion tapped his staff against the floor three times, the sharp, cracking noise silencing the last trails of conversation. He paused a moment, letting his gaze sweep the room with a smile. "Friends," he said. "A situation has arisen. A situation that involves us all." Link thought there was a strange look on the man's face. He didn't know the Chief well, and so couldn't ascertain whether the glimmer in his eyes was a natural part of his usual expression.

"Last night," the Chief continued, speaking slowly as though they were all small children. Or so Link thought. Perhaps he'd become too used to being spoken down too. "Last night, we were greeted by two auspicious happenings. First, the moon itself was darkened, her familiar light lost to us for a full hour. And then, the Castle itself was struck by an attack." There was no response from the crowd, the previous night's events now well-known. "An act of vandalism perpetrated by the Harkinians." He spat the last word out as a ripple of voices swept through the people.

Link tensed too, remembering the night of the Test and how he'd been unable to kill the targets despite having easily disposed of other people before in the past. He wondered if his hesitation had been due to the fact that they were fellow Hylians, though that had never bothered him before. He looked up in surprise when he heard the Chief's words almost mirror his thoughts.

"We shouldn't forget that the Harkinians are fellow Hylians," he was saying. "Their actions are a reflection on us all. And it is difficult enough to be a Hylian in this day and age." There was a murmur of assent.

"Let's find them ourselves," a voice called out. Lost in the mass of people, Link couldn't tell who it was. He tried to peer over to the source, but his view was blocked by wisps of pipe smoke and the sheer mass of people, their eyes fixed on the Chief. "We can deal our own justice out on them."

"Aye!" another said. "We'll teach them some honour."

More and more people were shouting now, throwing out curses and vows for revenge. The atmosphere was becoming a little too edgy. All around Link, he saw his fellow Hylians' faces either contorted in rage or stone-like with icy self-control. All except for Fran, that is. The old man had an uncomfortable look painted on his face, and he was rubbing his hands, more out of anxiety than any desire to generate heat.

Servion held up a hand in a plea for calm. "I understand your misgivings, my people," he said softly. "But there is a way for us to pounce on this opportunity." The voices were swept away once more and were replaced by the occasional clearing of a throat as the people continued to wait. Link's eyes darted, wondering why the Chief was so silent.

"I think the Harkinians have it right," he said finally, and the crowd throbbed again, this time their angry confusion directed at Servion. Link tensed again, not liking the direction the speech was going.

"Ssshhh," the Chief said, resting a hand on the marble pillar. He traced a finger down and around the column as the people watched, puzzled. He paused at one spot, near the bottom, and they all leaned forward. "Yes," he said. "Take a good look. It is said right here that a Gerudo once enslaved our people, spreading misery through the land." He paused. "And now a Gerudo rules us once more. A shame."

Link couldn't help it. "This is treasonous talk!" he snarled. Mystral snapped her head round towards him, a plea in her eyes. Fran watched him cautiously.

Servion looked up, his gaze searching for the owner of the outburst. When his eyes rested on Link, he smiled. "I didn't know a child was so well-versed in politics."

There was a small wave of laughter and Link felt something change in the air. The tension had eased and Link realised with mild discomfort that the people had relaxed a little, and were now willing to listen a little more openly. He'd spoken out of turn and his words had no weight because of his age and lack of social status. His heart sank and he felt his head throb. Shame bit him. How could he speak against the Chief this way?

The Chief's hand curved up the pillar, moving across hundreds of summers of history. He stopped again. "Here," he said. "The Massacre. Remember, my people, that we were once the true owners of this land. And then the Calatians came, killing, looting, raping. Look." His fingers sunk into the grooves etched into the column. "They cut the throats of children, their blood mixing with the rivers and lakes. They had their fill of women, their screams in the air almost continuously, night and day. And then they took over our land." Another pause. This time he pinned his gaze on the Elders, those old enough to have remembered first-hand accounts of the Massacre from their own parents. The looks on their faces were pale and some of them nodded, reminiscing. Link felt a frost grow over his heart. Now he knew that none of the younger people in the room would be able to object to the Chief's words without looking like they were disrespecting the Elders.

"And now look, here they are, living in luxury around the castle while we are herded into tiny enclaves like animals. Our blood was the foundation stone for this great city, which they derogatorily name 'New Hyrule', to be constructed. They could not even trust one another so they were forced to appoint the Gerudo as King."

Some people were weeping now, the images too vivid for most people's minds. Link was moved too, but it was mixed with confusion. He was loyal to his King and he knew that the Calatians he was friends with were not like that. But there was something else too. While most others in the room, Mystral and Tom included, were hanging on the Chief's words, Link felt uneasy. There was something insincere in the man's voice. Something too practised and calculated. Things were moving too fast and they needed time to reflect.

Servion moved his finger up a little further. "Here," he said. "A peace treaty between us and the Calatians. It's called a great moment in history. Instead of our taking vengeance and retaking what belonged to us, we compromised. And now look where we are."

"So," a voice called out, laced with a trace of doubt. "Are you suggesting we ally ourselves with the Harkinians? Why should we risk ourselves for ancient history? We are comfortable with the here and now. We don't need trouble."

There were nods around the room. Voices began to murmur again.

"Ancient history?" Servion said. "Did you know that the offspring of the Hylian women they defiled were adopted by the Calatians themselves? Did you know that their descendents spread far and wide and most are now living in the Calatian Quarter this very minute? Doesn't it shame you to know that their children live in enormous houses, some having three rooms to themselves, while ours only have a single bed in one corner to call their own? Doesn't it hurt that the Calatians use _our_ wealth feed their wives and have the finest physicians to tend to them while, when of our loved ones fall ill, we have to sit by their bed and hope for the best? Do you think that they still don't hate us? Both the Gerudo King and the Calatians themselves? Darkness has taken our people just as it took the moon. It would appear that last night was a sign, a reminder of what has happened to our land." There was a hushed pause and Link heard drops of water fall from a leak in the ceiling. "But remember. This is not a question of superiority or inferiority, no. This is a question of…justice."

He let the word hang in the air so that it would penetrate into the people's minds more easily. Very clever, thought Link.

Before anyone could speak, the Chief snapped his fingers. Two men, dressed in the garb of the Chief's guards, entered the Meeting House, a small, wrapped bundle on their shoulders. Link felt his heart sinking, knowing what it was from many summers of experience.

Slowly, they unwrapped the clear, white cloth as the people stared, perched forward on their toes. Servion paused an instant before removing the last piece, looking up to make sure everyone was watching. With an elaborate swipe, he revealed the face of a small, Hylian child, his face still encrusted with blood. Some of the people cried out, others gasped. Link saw Mystral cover her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with tears.

He recognised the boy, Aldrow, as someone who had run around their enclave, laughing and always ready with a smile or the whimsical questions typical of a child. Once Aldrow had poked at Link's crossbow as it hung from his belt. The little boy had begged him to show him how he used it and, after overcoming his own reservations and asking the boy's parents for permission, Link had taken Aldrow to a nearby forest where they had hunted small game all day. Link felt a tight knot in his heart.

"Murdered by Calatians," the Chief said simply. "The child's only crime being that he was Hylian." The thick emotion, obviously forced, in the Chief's voice made Link feel sick. His head throbbed as he saw everyone around him lean forward, entranced.

Angry shouts followed, the Harkinians briefly forgotten. Link felt his own heart churn and his hands curled into fists unconsciously. And yet, there was something holding him back. A trickle of doubt that flowed down to his tongue and begged to be released.

"Wait," Link called, trying to make himself heard. Servion looked up, catching his voice over the din, to meet his gaze. "How do you know this?"

The Chief snapped his fingers once more, as though he had expected the question. Another two guards entered, this time with another child, his face trembling with fear, walking tentatively with them. All eyes turned to the newcomer.

"Little Sean," Servion said softly. "Tell us what happened. Don't be scared now."

Link's eyes narrowed as he saw the little boy look up at the Chief in fear. Sean, unlike Aldrow, was not a picture of innocence, and was quite well-known for telling tall tales. Once, Link had caught the boy stealing apples from Tiny Borak's orchard. Dragging the screaming child to his parents, Link hadn't noticed when Sean had dropped an apple into one of the pouches in Link's tunic. When they had finally arrived at the boy's house, Sean had simply pointed at Link's tunic. Finding the fruit, his parents had been angered and Link had been forced to pay back all that had been stolen, while Sean had watched, smirking and taunting. The boy was a born liar. Catching the looks of hot rage in his compatriots' eyes, Link wondered if they'd forgotten that.

"We…we were playing," the boy said, occasionally peeking up at Servion for encouragement. "And…then…these men came…" He choked, sniffing.

"Go on," the Chief prompted gently.

"They said we were dirty Hylians. And…and they started hitting us. We tried to get away. They wouldn't stop. They had knives." The boy started crying, and Link had to admit that it sounded too forced and melodramatic. Hardly anyone else had reached the same conclusion though.

"My friends," Servion said, holding up his hands. "Your hearts yearn for vengeance. Multiply what you have seen today by a thousand and you will still not know the true horrors our people have had to endure." He gestured and yet another group of guards appeared. A hiss rose from the people as their eyes fell on the pair that the guards brought in.

Pushed along by the guards' unkind prods, a man and woman, both Calatians, stumbled into the Meeting House, their faces ashen with terror. They were both richly dressed and the woman wore a glittering diamond necklace, its light reflecting off the marble pillar. It was this necklace that Servion reached for now, tearing it off with a yank. He held it up so that it caught the light, enhancing its beauty.

"You see?" the Chief said. The mass of people were surging forward now and Link wondered when exactly they had lost control. "This is what they wear while our women have to content themselves with painted trinkets made out of wood." He looked down at the boy. "Sean, who are these people?"

The little boy looked up at them, his face blank. Link knew that only one answer would satisfy his fellow Hylians. "They are the ones that attacked me."

Link stood his ground, looking left and right in panic, as the crowd tried to push him on. Some were reaching out their arms, desperately trying to reach the Calatians. The couple cowered. There was a sour taste in the atmosphere, and Link shrunk back from the murderous glints in the eyes of those around him. He was surprised to see farmer Holly, her round belly jiggling and her eyes hollow, being the most vigorous in screaming. He even saw Deak, one of the few Hylian elders that he respected, also shouting vicious curses, his white hair trembling. How had these intelligent people been so easily manipulated? Hoping to find an escape from the insanity, he glanced around and saw Mystral, her face tight. Next he saw Tom, and the ugly look of rage on his face almost made Link tremble. Finally, his eyes found Fran, and he was finally heartened, seeing the worried look on the old man's face.

"What shall we do with them?" Servion asked. "What is your judgement?"

"The sword!" they screamed. "Pierce them and hang up their skins!"

The roar of response from the crowd made the Calatians step back, horrified. Link saw that there still remained a few people that were still fighting with doubt, islands of calm in the sea of people before him. He knew the indecision, coupled with being in the minority, would prevent them from action. The Calatians were dragged to the ground as Servion watched silently, and Link caught the flash of drawn daggers. He felt the air thicken with heat and his head started to spin. The man began to scream hysterically as he was pinned down, even before the blades started falling. His fellow Hylians reminded Link of a pack of ravenous wolves, drool and snarls included. The female whimpered as her dress was torn. Link's heart tightened. That was no way to treat a woman. He looked up at Fran. 'Do something,' the elder man mouthed.

Link nodded, swiftly scooping up crossbow his and aiming it at the Chief. He said no words, the whirr of the weapon's mechanism making the people scatter, screaming. Servion jerked as he saw what was happening. The guards around him drew their swords and swung them into position in front of their leader.

Servion pinned a stare on Link. "It looks like we have a Calatian sympathiser," he said in a soft voice. A tiny flicker of laughter rippled out from the crowd.

Undeterred, Link flexed his fingers around the weapon, reaching back into his quiver with his other hand and locking a second arrow into place beside the first one. There was no reason to do so, other than to show how serious he was. He could feel eyes on him, some fearful, some angry.

"Link!" Mystral hissed, terror pinching her face. "Put that down!"

He ignored her, trying to shut out the heated stares from all around him. His assassin training fell neatly into his mind. Keep your heart cold. Keep your aim steady. Of course, that very same training was screaming at him for threatening a target out in the open, but what choice did he have?

"Where's your proof?" he called. His mind raced, calculating at what angle he could hit Servion while his heart gaped, taunting him for daring to raise a weapon to his own Chief. His arm almost trembled, but he stilled it. _Keep your heart cold._ He could strike the man directly through the eye. Messy, but it would get the job done. "Where's your proof that these people did what you say they did?"

"The child," Servion replied simply.

Link didn't want to accuse him of lying, knowing that the people would see that as a cheap tactic. "He was confused and scared," said Link. "He said he saw only men. He mentioned no woman." There were a few sharp intakes of breath, as if though some people had just received a revelation. Others though, kept their stern expressions fixed.

The Chief flinched. His face almost curled into a scowl, but Link saw him control it with a slight shudder. "You realise I can have you cut down right now," he said quietly. "You wouldn't get out of here alive."

Link felt fear touch his heart, realising the truth of the man's words. This was stupid, he knew, one boy against all these armed and angry Hylians. Even if he did somehow manage to kill the Chief, the people would lynch him. He caught the intensity in their eyes, one or two of the more dim-witted ones itching to leap on him, saliva already rolling down their chins in anticipation. Like an idiot, Link hadn't thought ahead. He was surprised Mystral hadn't begun chiding him yet. What did he owe these Calatians anyway? The thought melted away under the weight of something he couldn't quite describe. The same sensation he had felt when his trigger finger had been stilled on the night of the Test. Still, he continued. "They still deserve a trial," he said, cocking his head towards the Calatians. "There has to be more proof."

"I concur," Fran called. "Proof. It's only right." There was a slight swell of voices, but not enough, Link knew, since Fran held no weight in their society.

There was silence as the Chief and Link watched one another with cautious, narrowed eyes.

"The boy is right." Link's heart was gladdened to hear Deak's voice, and he stole a glance at him, seeing the old man's face return to a sense of normalcy. The murmur grew stronger, an Elder's word demanding attention and reflection.

Another heartbeat of silence passed. The heat of the Hylians' stares made Link's brow break out in a sweat.

Abruptly, Servion spun on his heel, walking towards the captives. Link kept his weapon trained on the man, tracking his path.

The Chief looked at the prisoners with cold, hard eyes. "Let me show you how we Hylians truly behave," he said. "Unlike you Calatians we have mercy in our hearts." He paused, throwing a glance over at his fellow Hylians. "Despite your vicious crimes, I have decided to show you true Hylian spirit. Something that all my people share." Another pause. The people waited. "On behalf of the Hylian race, I forgive you for your misdeeds. You are free to go. Tell your people about how we treat wrongdoers."

A sincere and spontaneous cheer rumbled through the Meeting House, and people began chanting the Chief's name. _Servion! Servion! _Link dropped his arm, puzzled at how Servion had managed to turn everything to his favour. Of course, no one could credit Link with what happened. He was too young and it would be showing too much disrespect to the Chief. He felt Fran's hand on his shoulder, the elder man's hot breath on his cheek as he leaned in close.

"That's what happens when you pick a fight with a politician," Fran said. "Nice work, lad, though a little foolish."

Link looked at him warily, not sure how to respond to that. He caught the glares from some of the others and all of a sudden the room felt too small and too hot. No longer did he feel like he was in a room full of intimate friends. Now they appeared to him as stone-faced strangers. And, he realised with a chill, they were not likely to forget his actions this night. "I need to go out," he said.

"Wait, lad," Fran said, clutching at his sleeve. "Do you see what you did? You doubted his claims without seeing his proof."

He was in no mood for Fran's lectures at the moment. "So?"

"So," the elder man continued. "Why do you believe the King when he tells you to kill someone? Do you ask him for proof too?"

Link moved to leave, not liking how Fran's words unsettled him. The old King had saved his sister and himself from bandits. How could he possibly doubt him? "That's different."

"How so?" he replied with genuine curiosity.

"It's the King," Link said a little testily. "Kings don't lie."

Fran's eyes arched and his mouth curled into an incredulous smile. "You have a lot to learn, lad."

Link felt another pair of angry eyes burn into him and he quickened his pace, eager to leave both the hostile atmosphere and Fran's confusing musings. "Take Mystral home for me," he said. "I need some fresh air."

The noise of the gathering fell into a dull throb behind him as Link made his way down the twisting passageways to the exit. The air grew colder as he approached, the lanterns hanging from the damp, stone walls giving off little warmth. He could see the giant, wooden door now, stretched and cracked with age and he was puzzled that there were no guards posted there. Despite being completely safe in their own Quarter, it was always wise to keep someone at the ready, especially when so many of them were assembled in one place.

The silver glint of a sword flashed in front of his eyes and Link found his path blocked by the sudden appearance of two of the Chief's guards. They parted, revealing Servion Boarhound himself, his mouth split in a toothy grin. Instantly, Link's fingers clutched for his crossbow, but a big, meaty hand swung up and pinned him to the wall. Link could feel the stone's heavy coldness press into his back.

Servion leaned forward, his breath the only source of heat in the narrow passageway, his eyes swirling with a mixture of smugness and intense rage.

"Do not cross me, boy," he whispered when he was close enough to Link's face. "I did not appreciate your little game back there."

"It was no game," Link bit back when he could find his voice. A part of him was shocked that he was talking to the Chief this way and, once again, he had to steel himself from trembling. He didn't know Servion Boarhound personally, but had always given him the respect that was his due, the Chief's presence a constant in his life, like a relative that was known to exist, but had never bothered to take the effort to become intimate with the rest of the family. "What you wanted us to do. It was wrong."

Servion shook his head, his mouth curling. "Wrong? What do you know of 'right' and 'wrong', boy?" he said. "It is right that we live in virtual poverty while the Calatians live like kings and queens?" He paused, letting Link ponder on his words. "Do you deny us the right to take back what really belongs to us?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind Link realised that the conversation had shifted from discussing the attempted murder of two Calatians to something completely different, but the heavy confusion in his thoughts distracted him. Doubt tickled him. Was he really being foolish by clinging to his position when all around him had sided with the Chief? It was a little stupid for him to believe that he was right when those older and wiser than him disagreed. Seeing the earnest look in Servion's eyes, Link stream of guilt trickle over his heart. He longed to climb up to the caverns around the city so that he could just find the time to think.

"I don't know," Link said, and then immediately chided himself for saying something so stupid.

"You don't know," Servion repeated, the lines around his eyes tightening. "I suggest you find out. I need everyone on the same track if I am to proceed." He looked Link up and down one last time. "But I can see that you're going to be trouble, boy. You might want to reconsider that." He paused again, making sure that Link had his full attention. "For the sake of your sister, that is."

Link felt the warmth drain from his face as Servion moved away, beckoning the guards to follow him with a sharp flick of his hand. His heart feeling like a slab of lead, Link took in a deep breath and ran to the door, stumbling once or twice as he tried to calm his dizzy mind.

...

Link's footsteps echoed around the deserted streets of the Hylian Quarter, most of the people still back at the Meeting House. Shops were still open and the glow of the hanging lanterns mixed with the moonlight in the air. Link glanced up, glad that the moon was no longer smothered in darkness. He wrapped Mystral's scarf tighter around his neck, the scent of her perfume clinging to his skin. It comforted him.

His mind was still awhirl, Servion and Fran's words creating the unwelcome whisper of doubt that stroked his heart. Link didn't want to consider the possibility that Ganondorf had misled him like the way Servion had misled the Hylians. If that were true, then his life had been wasted. But, as Fran had pointed out, he had never asked for proof about the nature of their targets' crimes. He had just gone along on trust alone. The again, after hearing the Chief's words, he couldn't decide if Servion had been misleading or if Link himself had been the one that was misled.

Link tried to push the thoughts away. What he needed was something to ease his mind. Something to make him forget his troubles, at least for a little while.

Abruptly, he felt the breeze above him change and a dark blur of movement unfurled in front him. Instantly, Link whipped his crossbow up to face the newcomer that had just appeared in front of him. He was a little annoyed that he'd let the person sneak up on him so easily. Not very impressive for an assassin.

The figure stepped forward into the light and Link tightened his grip on the crossbow.

Sheik crossed her arms over her chest, looking back at him with a smile in her eyes. "Put that thing down," she said. "And tell me this: why are you wandering the streets in the middle of the night all by your lonesome?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Link followed Sheik down the dimly lit, narrow alleyways of a part of the Hylian Quarter that he'd never visited before. It sat on the outskirts of the city, far away from Castle Dragmire, and the buildings here were shabby, paint peeling and wood rotting. People here were hunched, their eyes suspicious, their faces unkind. Link tapped his fingers on his crossbow, both as a warning and just so that he was ready for any eventuality.

Mystral would kill him if she knew he was here. Once, when he was younger, he had wandered off out of her reach, finding himself in an unfamiliar part of town, the buildings and people dwarfing him. He had tugged at people's tunics, begging for help, but they had angrily jerked free of his grasp. Eventually, his sister had found him, but the tear-streaked, grief-contorted look on her face had scared him. She had hugged him tightly, weeping, while she both cursed him and asked him if he was alright. The anger in her eyes had made Link think that she would hit him for the first time in his life, but she hadn't. For the next few weeks after that she wouldn't let him out of her sight, panicking if he did not respond to her calls.

Jonah had once dared him to enter the 'Outlands', as this part of the Quarter was called. Still only eleven summers old they had both approached the edge of the area, their stiff faces hiding the fear they held inside. They hadn't got far. One scowl from a fat, toothless Hylian had made them flee, screaming. Jonah had tripped over a bucket, twisting his ankle and knocking over a fruit stall. The owner had raged, a broken pitchfork in one hand. Link had thought fast, using the fallen fruit as weapons and throwing them at the angry man. He'd made sure that he had used the fruits with the hardest shells as he pulled Jonah away to safety. Once they were clear, they had fallen in a heap, grinning and relieved. Jonah had solemnly declared that they were now 'brothers for eternity' after Link had 'saved his life.' He smiled at the memory.

The young man turned his attention to Sheik, curiosity about the girl now prodding his mind. Without really knowing it, Link's eyes fell to her chest, noticing how flat it was. No wonder she looked like a boy.

Sheik caught him. "_What_ are you looking at?" she said, her voice acidic.

Link looked away hastily. "Nothing."

A sudden wave of shame hit him and his cheeks burned. He'd done something out of turn yet again this day. He knew it was wrong to look at a girl like that. Panic rose within him. For some reason he wanted this young woman to think the best of him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She looked at him, offering no response, before turning away. They continued walking, Link hanging his head and looking at the dirt and grease on the ground. Obviously nobody cleaned this place. It reminded him of his bed chamber.

"Why are you in the Hylian Quarter?" he asked, looking up. His gaze searched her ears, looking for the tell-tale sign of her race, but her head covering blocked his view.

Sheik looked at him again, and once again did not reply. Anxiety fluttered in his heart. Had she been too offended by his earlier actions? It couldn't be – she was still letting him walk with her.

Link tried again. "What's your name?"

"Sheik," she replied simply.

"Is that your real name?" he asked.

She fixed him with a fierce stare. "It is to you."

"Why do you have a male name?" he asked.

Sheik continued to look at him. "Why do _you_ have a woman's scarf?"

Link sighed audibly, his hand automatically reaching for Mystral's scarf. This was going to be harder than he thought. She spoke less than he did. His forehead creased as he fell into silence, trying to think of other things to say. It seemed strange to refer to the girl as 'Sheik', but he guessed he had little choice. He was broken out of his musings by the sound of her voice.

"What's _your_ name?" she asked. The young man felt his heart stir at her interest.

"Link," he replied. "My family name is unknown."

She nodded without making comment, and he felt his optimism evaporate just as quickly as it had arrived, like the popping of a fragile bubble. Sheik stopped at a rusted metal ladder and, grasping it with both hands, she shook it to test its stability.

"Come on," she said, looking towards him.

Link froze, caution making him wary. "Why?" he demanded. "Where are you taking me?"

She rested her head against the ladder. "You looked sad," she said softly. Link was surprised at how quickly her voice would shift from venom to honey like a weathervane battered by the wind. "I'm going to cheer you up."

"Why?" he asked, still not convinced, though the cheerful certainty in her voice was alluring.

"Just," she said, starting to climb. "Come on!"

Taking one look around him, he assessed the situation out of his assassin's habit. All was still. Judging everything to be safe, he climbed up after her, the ladder shaking under his weight and flakes of grimy rust clinging to his hands.

Reaching the top, Link was surprised to see other people there, hidden in the darkness. They carried intricately constructed, curved wooden bows, ancient relics from an ancient time. Link wondered where they had got them from. He'd dearly love to own one himself, and he even felt his mouth water at the prospect, but knew them to be too expensive. His fingers tightened, as though they wished to reach out and touch the weapons, so tempting was the idea.

Sheik watched him with mild disinterest as she greeted some of the men and nodded at others. She seemed to be well-known here. Link noticed that she would lower her voice to a harsh whisper when she spoke to them, so it was unclear whether she was male or female. She didn't do that with him though. Link felt his heart surge. What did that mean?

The air was more biting up here, and Link tightened the scarf around his neck, suddenly grateful that Mystral had given it to him. He continued to watch the men, noticing that they were all Hylian. Some lounged against the wall at the building's edge, steaming mugs in their hands. Laughter floated over to him, and Link felt himself relax. He was glad others were here. He'd feel guilty being alone with a girl. Old Hylian customs were hard to shake off, and he could almost feel Mystral's eyes on him, even though she was safe at home.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"Look," Sheik replied simply, pointing. Link peered, seeing faint, round targets painted crudely on the wall of the adjacent building. The targets were peppered with holes and the paint was flaking away. A sharp glint of silver made him turn back, and he saw Sheik pull her thin daggers free. She grinned, though he could only tell by the way the wrappings around her lower face stretched. "This is what we do to do unwind here," she said. She nodded over at the targets. "Think you can hit the centre?"

Link's eyes narrowed as he focused on the red dot at the centre of the targets. "Of course I can," he said.

Sheik chuckled. "Confident." She stepped away. "You first."

Hooking an arrow into his crossbow, he aimed it at the target, steadying his hand as the breeze tugged at it. He bit his lower lip as his squinting eyes tried to judge the distance. Flicking a switch, the weapon whirred, tightening the string. His arm held straight and firm as a rock, he lifted the crossbow a hair higher. Satisfied, he pushed down on the release trigger.

The arrow flew, the accompanying orange flare making some of the men look up sharply. Faint curling smoke still hanging in the air and making his nose itch, Link focused his eyes, trying to see where his arrow had landed. He saw it jutting out a little higher than the red spot.

"Not bad," Sheik said.

"Not bad?" Link said indignantly, as Sheik pulled back her arm. "It was just a little off the target."

Sheik gave him one last amused look before propelling her arm forward and releasing the dagger. Link watched its path as it curved through the air, hilt over tip. The silver blur snapped his arrow in two and embedded itself at the tip of the dot.

Link's mouth fell open and Sheik chuckled again. He felt a cold wall rise in his heart. Determination ran through his veins.

"Try that _again_," he said, gripping his crossbow tightly.

Sheik looked at him, curious. She opened her mouth to speak, but then the reluctance in her eyes vanished. "Alright."

She flipped the other dagger up into the air, letting it spin, before catching it in a fluid movement. Her eyes rested on him one last time and then she pulled back her arm and threw.

In an instant, Link swung his weapon up, locked in an arrow, and fired. A volley of sparks erupted in mid-air as the arrow collided with the dagger, throwing it off target. This time it was Sheik's turn to gape. Link felt himself grin in satisfaction. A small cheer rose from the other men, watching intently now, and Sheik flicked an annoyed glance at them.

She turned back to Link. There was a pause as their eyes locked. For a moment, Link thought that he'd gone too far again, and had embarrassed her in front of her friends. Slowly, her chest started to shake and, at first, Link thought she was going to weep, before realising that she was chuckling. Her mirth grew and she began to laugh louder now, clutching onto the wall to steady herself. Link smiled uncertainly, though he wasn't exactly sure why he was sharing in her humour.

"That was _good_," she whispered, her eyes narrowed to icy blue slits. She reached for her belt and pulled out a handful of daggers, a challenge in her eye. Link was ready.

One by one, Sheik threw, faster each time, and Link hurried to grasp at arrows from his quiver, ready them, and fire. Sometimes he would stop her daggers and the crowd would cheer, and at other times he would fail, eliciting an even bigger roar from the audience. They continued for some time, throwing playful jibes at each other and smiling. In the end, she ran out of blades and he almost ran out of arrows. They collapsed to the ground, exhausted and laughing.

Giddy with excitement and feeling at ease in the girl's company, Link pulled his final arrow free. He spied a lone cucco, hopping at the top of one building. Not caring how it got there, Link aimed, hoping to impress his new friend. Focusing the steel tip on the bird's neck, Link squeezed his finger around the trigger.

"Hey!" Link was startled as Sheik pushed his arm violently, letting the arrow go awry.

He looked at her, confused. "_Why_?" he asked simply.

"You were going to kill the bird!" she replied.

Link shrugged, still not understanding. "And?"

"Why would you want to _kill_ anything for?" she said. "To hunt, I understand that. For food, yes. But for a game?"

Link felt his heart plummet, confusion and misery whirling in his head. Suddenly he felt a wall between them, a wall that he knew would be insurmountable. He turned away, the pain welling inside. Still, he wanted to fight what she thought. "What about self-defence? What about murderers and people who commit horrific crimes?"

Her eyes flashed with confusion and Link could sense her hesitation. It satisfied him.

"That's different," she said uncertainly. "You wanted to kill the bird for nothing."

Silence hung between them and, once again, someone else's words were giving Link uncomfortable thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she said finally.

Link shook his head. She thought that _she_ was in the wrong! "It's not you," he said.

"Then?" she asked. The gentleness in his voice made him hurt even more. Mystral's voice whispered to him. _How much will you lose, Link? Just so we can eat and have a roof over our heads._ He felt anger wash over him and he was glad. It drowned his pain. Two days ago he wouldn't have thought twice about his path in life. Why had everything changed so quickly? It was that Hylian woman's fault. If she hadn't leapt in front of her husband, all would be well now. He bitterly wished he had killed them all now.

_Even the baby?_ a voice whispered in his mind.

He'd heard stories of this before. Assassins that went mad after a lifetime of murder and paranoia. He hadn't even had one true kill yet, and he was suffering from the same affliction. He used to scoff at those stories, thinking those men to be weak. How could they wallow in their self-indulgent depression like that? All the targets of the Assassins League deserved to die. It was, if someone thought about it intently, a noble profession. And now here he was, upset because his new-found friend was shocked that he wanted to kill a cucco. A cucco!

It was strange that this girl had managed to sink her words into where neither Fran nor his sister had been able. He hissed inwardly, pushing the doubts away. Who was this strange woman anyway? And why should he listen to her?

Sheik was still watching him, waiting for him to speak. Link swallowed, trying to bring moisture back into his mouth. "It's nothing," he said.

She walked up to him with cautious steps. "Let's get something to drink, shall we?"

Link nodded and followed her as she led the way to a small wooden hatch built into the roof. Let your heart grow cold, he told himself, trying to still his thoughts. It worked, and he felt his face tighten into a frown as he climbed down. This was not turning out to be a good day. First, the glares he had received at the Meeting House and now the edgy tenseness he could sense from the girl. A sour sense of irony rose in his throat. The first was because he had tried to _prevent_ someone from being killed and the second was because he himself had been the one that had tried to kill.

They entered a dimly-lit, dingy tavern with windows boarded up and stained tables. The usual murmur of conversation was absent here; instead people spoke in hushed whispers. Clearly a place for those who did not want to be noticed. Sheik stood, searching the room, before settling on a table in one corner. Link grimaced as he sat down beside her, noticing the pooling water that seeped in from the ceiling and the stagnant smell that hung in the air.

A plump, greasy skinned serving woman shuffled up to them, complete with too much face paint and a practised scowl. "What will you two gents be having?" she drawled in a bored voice.

Link looked up at her, slightly fearful as to what sort of things would be served in a place like this. "My friend here isn't a gent," he said, nodding at Sheik.

The woman turned a large eye towards the young girl.

Sheik looked back impassively.

"Tell her," Link insisted.

Sheik raised an eyebrow.

"Listen, sonny," the serving woman said, turning back to Link. "It doesn't bother me what you do in your free time. I just serve the drinks. Now what'll be?"

Link gawped at the implication in her words. "Water," he croaked. Sheik nodded vigorously in agreement.

As the woman spun away, Link glared at the young girl. "You did that deliberately."

"Link," she said gently, uttering his name for the first time. She flicked at the edge of the table absentmindedly, breaking off chips of wood. "Don't you think there's a reason why I'm in disguise?"

"Which is?" he asked quickly, eager to leap on the opportunity.

She turned away and Link there would be no answers for him. He looked around at the other patron's, but everytime he caught someone's eye, they would hastily turn away. The water continued to drop. Link wondered why Sheik would choose to visit a place like this, but then he remembered how she had said that her family was poor. He wanted to ask her about it, but wasn't sure how. He didn't want to probe at anything that was sensitive to her. Their drinks came and the uneasy silence between the two grew.

"So," he said finally after clearing his throat. "Interesting happenings last night. The moon was darkened and the attack on the castle."

Her eyes lit up at that last statement. "What do you think about that?" she asked. The excitement in her voice puzzled Link. "About the attack?"

Link shrugged. "Harkinians." He virtually spat the word out, its sour taste rolling around his mouth and prompting Sheik to look at him oddly. He didn't offer an explanation and she sat back, obviously deciding not to pry. He was relieved. Thinking about the Harkinians made him remember his Test. Even though Commander Kisho had passed him, the memory of the night still made him feel uneasy.

"Listen," she said, shifting out of her seat. "I have to go."

Link felt panic rise and he almost reached out to stop her. Let your heart grow cold, he told himself, and pushed his emotions down.

She looked at him with an inquisitive eye. "I had a good time," she said.

His training melted away and Link felt the grateful smile come to his face. The dull throb in his heart, a result of his time at the Meeting House and the aftermath of his attempted kill of the bird, evaporated. "So did I," he said.

"Can you make it home on your own?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, still smiling.

"Confident," she said, a smile in her eyes. She turned away and made for the exit.

A thought sprung to Link's mind. "Wait," he said, looking up. "When will I see you again?"

But she had already gone.

...

Impa peered at the decaying scroll, blowing off the dust while bringing her lantern closer. The dust tickled her nose and the heat of the light stroked her cheek. She sniffed, the musty smell of old parchments distracting her.

"Look at this," she said, her voice echoing around the small, dark room.

Montero glanced up, his eyes bloodshot. They had gone down to the Castle's Library painstakingly sifting through all the most ancient of scrolls, searching for crumbs of information related to the Triforce. Impa could tell that the Librarian had been aghast at the mess they had caused, but he kept it hidden, not wanting to offend the new King. Only the tiniest twitch in his cheek had given him away.

Then they had come to this old, disused storeroom so that they would not be disturbed, unless it was absolutely urgent. Only a small table, the wood already rotted, and a pair of chairs that wobbled when too much weight was placed on them inhabited the place. The walls and floor were bare, a far cry from the lavish decorations in the rest of the castle.

"What is it?" the King said quietly.

Impa blinked, trying to free the fatigue in her eyes. Despite her earlier reluctance she had been caught up in the chase, feeling a slight thrill whenever they discovered something new. Even Montero had taken on an aura of seriousness and once again she had been surprised at how easily she had underestimated him.

"It says here," she said, shifting in her chair and holding up the scroll. "That one hundred years ago, the Triforce was once again split into three. One part was buried in the grave of someone known as the 'Hero of Time.'" She looked up, catching Montero's intense stare. He offered no words. "The other was buried with the _original_ Gerudo who held one of the pieces. He'd been finally slain." Impa chewed her lip, frowning. "I wonder why they buried it with _him._"

"And the other piece?" the King asked, ignoring her musings.

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the parchment. It crackled under her touch. Finally, she shook her head. "There's no mention of it." She held up the scroll, revealing the moth-eaten holes that punctured it. "It might have been written there, but it's lost now."

Montero leaned back in his chair, his features creased in thought. "I wonder why they wanted to hide it. It was an object of great power, after all.

Impa rubbed her fingers together before picking out another scroll. "This one is interesting," she said. "All it says is 'The Triforce is not what it once was'. It gives no more details than that though." She paused to stifle a yawn. "Maybe that's a clue?"

"Hmm," the King said, stroking his temples. "I found something too."

"Oh?" Impa said, raising an eyebrow.

"Mmm," he mumbled, shifting through the pile of scrolls in front of him. "Where is it…?" He coughed as the dust rose, hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "Here!" He pulled one free as Impa waited patiently. "This one speaks of a sword as 'black as the night'. Whoever touches it would be driven mad with despair." Montero looked up, grinning. "Sounds like one of my father's speeches."

Impa laughed despite herself. For a brief moment, she felt her heart flicker in warmth towards the King. She pushed the feeling away hastily.

"Then it continues," Montero said. "It says: 'Bring all four together and the Cycle will be broken once and for all.'" Shaking his head, he glanced up at Impa. "The Cycle?"

She felt her mouth go dry. The Cycle. Ganondorf had spoken about it so much that it was branded into her mind. A hero, an evil and a princess. She found the concept laughable. Who in this world could be described as completely heroic or completely evil? Still. Her curiosity was piqued. There was a way to break the Cycle? Keeping her face as still as possible so that she would not give anything away, Impa merely shrugged, hoping that her eyes betrayed nothing. If anything, Montero would probably think she was as confused as him.

"Bring all four of _what_ together?" he continued, idly scratching at his wrist.

"I don't know," she replied truthfully.

He blinked, looking as tired as she felt. "We need to find those graves," he said, his voice suddenly gaining strength.

Impa sighed, feeling a twinge in her heart. "Still want to reclaim lost Gerudo pride?"

Something flashed in his eyes that she couldn't interpret. "Yes," he said slowly. "Exactly."

"What good is it without the third piece?"

"We'll find it," he said confidently. "We just need to read more scrolls."

Impa felt a tug at her heart. Something was bothering her about the last scroll she had read out. "Have you considered," she said cautiously, "that the Triforce wasn't meant to be found anymore?"

He shrugged. "The graves?"

She grit her teeth, searching through the heap of parchments again. She had marked one with her quill, and the wet, black cross caught her eye now. Pulling it free, she scanned it quickly for the information that she needed. "The Hero of Time is buried here," she said. "Where New Hyrule Town now stands."

Montero nodded. "And the Gerudo?"

Impa read through the scroll thrice, making sure that her weary eyes had not missed anything. Finally, she shook her head. "Nothing. I don't know where he's buried." Turning her head to keep her neck from aching, she looked at the King. "What should we do now?"

A rap at the door, short and sharp, prevented Montero from replying. He gestured at Impa and she rose, nodding, to open the door. She almost slipped, her legs having gone numb from sitting in one position too long. She scowled in exasperation as the tingle of returning blood made her wince. Opening the door revealed a messenger boy, lantern in one hand, creased scroll clutched in the other. There was an impatient look in his eyes, but Impa waited, hoping he could compose himself. If someone worked at Castle Dragmire they should know how to present themselves properly. There were standards that needed to be kept.

Finally realising what she wanted, the messenger took in a deep breath, straightening his back.

"Yes?" she asked.

"A message for the King," he replied.

"Really?" Impa said with a dry voice. "A messenger boy visits the chamber where the King is studying and wants to bring him a message?" She couldn't resist the tease. "Interesting."

The boy did not even flinch, holding himself steady and keeping his patience. Satisfied, Impa nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. He rushed over to Montero, who snapped the wax seal on the scroll and unfurled the parchment. As his eyes darted over the words, his mouth slowly curled into a smile.

"What is it?" Impa asked as the messenger left the room. At the back of her mind, she was happy to note that the boy knew when to give the King his privacy. If he kept this up he might be in line for a higher station when she next reviewed the staff.

"Good news," Montero said, folding the scroll and laying it neatly on the table. "We've found the Harkinians."

...

Sheik walked through the gates that linked the Hylian Quarter with the Kokiri Quarter, her footsteps breaking the silence. There were very few people out and about now and she could glimpse the blood-red streak of the approaching dawn on the horizon. Absentmindedly, she nodded to the gatekeepers, her boots scuffing against the dust ground. Her thoughts, though, were elsewhere.

She was drawn to the Hylian boy, though she didn't know why. Something about him scared her mildly. That intense look in his eyes, the all too confident way he handled his crossbow. And yet, there was something about him that was oddly familiar. He seemed to have a naive charm to him too, though she told herself she didn't want to think of him of anything more than a curiosity. She had far more important things to concern herself with.

Sheik stumbled as the world swam in her vision, the old whispers coming again, prodding, taunting, inciting. Reaching out to steady herself, she shut her eyes tight, begging for it to end. She still did not understand the words, but the malicious undercurrent of them was clear. Her heart felt constricted and the air seemed suffocating. And then, once more, they melted away.

Sheik waited a moment, tense. Realising that the voices were not going to come again, she moved on. It was her secret, something she did not share with anyone else, even her other family members. She couldn't make any sense of it and didn't know why this was happening to her. The whispers had started four seasons ago, slowly at first, then gaining in intensity. They frightened her.

Turning down a narrow alleyway, she angrily kicked old crates out of her path. Finally, she stopped in front of a half-hidden door and rapped on the door.

A pair of eyes appeared. "Pass~"

"Ocarina," she said impatiently. She was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

Entering the safehouse, she felt her eyes go heavy, ready for her to fall into slumber. The comforting warmth enveloped her like the embrace of an old friend. She heard something shuffle in the near darkness and she looked up. Someone was waiting for her.

"What is it, Kafei?" Sheik said as he blocked her path. She tried to move past him, but he shifted his position. Glaring, she waited. "I'm tired."

"Where have you been?" he said, his voice showing no hint of sympathy.

"Out," she replied. Sheik studied his face, trying not to laugh at his stern expression. Sometimes she lost track of how everyone in the safehouse was related to the other. All the last surviving Harkinians, and even some of their distant relations, were living here. Their numbers were dwindling, picked off one-by-one by the Dragmires' assassins. She felt a dull hatred at the bottom of her heart.

There were about twenty-five of them left now, including the children. The low number depressed her, but she knew that they all had to keep positive if they were to continue. Despair was paralysing. What she did know was that Kafei was not her father, despite how he tried to act around her. Both her parents were long dead, and Kafei was nothing more than an uncle who had, reluctantly it seemed, taken on the responsibility of caring for her. She bit down her rising resentment. She felt that she could take care of herself perfectly well.

"One night after the attack?" he continued, pinning her with his stare. "That was foolish."

"No one saw me when we attacked," she said. "No one would recognise me."

"The Elders still aren't pleased."

"When are they ever?" She paused, not able to resist her next words. "They're just angry that people are looking to me for action. A 'little girl' has more influence than they ever could." She heard the smugness in her own voice, but she didn't care.

Kafei ignored her last statement. "What was the point of that attack?" he said. "All that trouble to redecorate the Castle?"

"It was symbolic," she replied quickly. "To show the people we still exist."

There was a pause. Sheik knew what was coming next. The silence was smothering and she could barely hear the rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the house.

"There are other ways," he said carefully.

"No," she replied sternly. "That would involve killing. It would be chaos."

He cocked his head to one side. "How else do you propose we take back our Throne?"

She sighed, once again falling into the same argument she had had with him many times in the past. "I don't know," she replied. "If we can win the people's support, we could force the Dragmires overthrow."

He snorted. "Silly childish foolishness," he said, and she felt her cheeks burn. "The only way is to take the Castle by force." His voice grew softer. "We know you dislike it. But you're no stranger to fighting and killing, no matter how much it sickens you."

She grimaced at the truth of his last words. "I do what I have to do." Her voice sounded empty and cold, the memories like bitter marks scorched onto her soul.

"Right," he said, his tone still cautious. She thought he could see his mind calculating in the darkness. "What you have to do. And what _we_ have to do is force our way to what is ours by right."

Sheik felt temptation curl around her heart, but she pushed it away. "What would be the point? If we staged a revolution the people would never accept us. Especially if bloodshed is involved."

"And what about your way?" he replied quickly, already familiar with her line of thought. "You want to win the people's support. Well, most of the people are Calatian. Why would they ever support us?"

She looked past him, spying a room that had faint light pouring out from the under the door. "Is she awake?" she asked.

Kafei looked over his shoulder, surprised at the change of subject. "Yes," he said. "She's waiting for you. She was worried too."

"Let me see her," she said.

Kafei paused for an instant, holding her gaze. Finally he relented with a nod, turning to one side and letting her pass. Sheik darted past him, relieved. Throwing him one last look, she entered the room.

A fire was burning, crackling softly and filling the room with the scent of charcoal. In the middle of the room a chair stood, facing away from Sheik. Someone was sitting there, rocking back and forth.

"You shouldn't worry us like that," a female voice said. There was strength there, and her accent was more refined than either Sheik or Kafei's. Just hearing her voice made Sheik's heart bubble with love, and she felt a twinge of guilt to have made her wait through the night, no doubt troubled.

Sheik swallowed, letting the heat of the fire spread over her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I needed to get out."

"I understand," the other said with a hint of sadness. The compassion that was absent in Kafei's voice was thick in hers.

The female stood up, turning around to face Sheik with a smile. "I'm glad to see you, Sheik," she said.

"And I'm glad to see you," she replied, bowing her head slightly. "Princess Harkinian."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The guard fell to his knees, his face contorted in pain, then slumped to the ground, the poison tightening his veins like a vice. Link patted his belt, feeling the small packets of powder therein. An assassin had to be prepared for everything. Sometimes the direct route was not the best method and so all of them carried various toxins on their person, along with other useful accessories.

Running forward on his toes, the tapping of his boots faint, Link pulled free a pair of glinting, silver stars, the points curved into sharp-edged tips. He pressed himself flat against the cold, stone wall of the building, his eyes darting left and right, scanning the darkness. His heart and mind were focused and sharp, funnelling in on his goal. He inched closer to the door, spying a dark shape approaching from the other side. Link didn't have to think twice to know it was Jonah, his movements in perfect synchronisation with his friend's. It was comforting to know that he could trust entirely in his fellow assassin, the easy familiarity between the two born from summers of experience. Link grinned. This would be easy.

Jonah's crossbow fired, splintering the lock. Link dived and rolled as the door swung open, throwing his stars into the yawning opening. They flashed in the moonlight, buzzing through the air like angry insects. He heard two soft, dull thuds and nodded to himself, satisfied that they had reached their targets. Snapping his head back, he looked towards a pair of large, old trees, their branches rustling in the soft breeze. With two short whistles, he called to the others.

Rivero, Kisho and Montero dropped from the leaves, each of them landing in a crouch. With hurried, but careful steps, the trio made their way over to the younger men. Link watched the King cautiously, knowing that this run was for his benefit. So far, Montero had carried himself well, his movements agile and confident. There was no time to ponder any further as Kisho gestured for them to enter with a quick flick of his hand.

"Get it over and done quick," Rivero grumbled as Jonah and Link slipped inside. "The wife's got something special cooking tonight, and I need to get home as fast as I can."

Link was struck by a eerie sense of desolation as he heard the words, realising all of a sudden how little he knew about his teammates. He had not known that the big man was married. In fact, he didn't know what the others did outside of their duties. As he chewed on the thought some more, he realised that the only one of them that knew he even had a sister was Jonah. Somehow, Link tried to picture Rivero's wife in his mind, wondering what kind of woman could bear to live with an assassin. Did she even know what he did? Of course, she must. He felt a disquieting knot of doubt in his heart. What about when it came to be his own turn for marriage? Would he find anyone who would endure a day-to-day existence knowing that he might never come back? At that instant he knew what Mystral must go through every time he went out on a mission, knew now why she always looked so tired and beaten. It sickened him.

As they ran through the building, pausing to hide behind walls and check the area, Link felt himself gripped by a wall of isolation. He no longer felt at ease with his fellow assassins, so much of their lives hidden from him.

"Link!" Jonah hissed. "Concentrate!"

He glanced up, catching the frantic look in his friend's wide eyes, mixed with a glaze of concern. Link nodded, feeling a little comforted. Despite everything, he knew they were always looking out for one another. He paused, letting himself hear the thudding of his heart and feel the breeze tugging at his hair, and wondered why, all of a sudden, he had been plagued with doubts recently. Weariness weighed down on his eyes like hot coals, and he desperately searched for the calm centre in his soul. _Let your heart grow cold._ Instantly the mantra worked, and he felt strength flow through his body, rejuvenating him, as though someone had splashed him with icy cold water. His gaze shifted ahead as he heard the footsteps of the others approach, imperceptible to anyone else, but clear to his assassin's ears. Montero's was the loudest, not having learnt how to move stealthily.

Link felt Kisho clasp him on the shoulder as they all peered forward down the narrow, richly-carpeted hallway. There was silence, save for the tiny jingling of their weapons as the hanging crossbows shifted minutely in time with the assassins' movements. Link saw the Commander's eyes narrow, knowing that even that slight betrayal of noise was too loud. They had been trained to move as silently as a short, sharp breath. Their eyes moved upwards, seeing the darkened balcony above that ran alongside the passageway. Long, thick ropes were tied lengthways to the ceiling, and attached to the centre of the roof. They were set there to keep in place the lush material that was pinned to the ceiling as a decoration, velvety like the petals of a rose.

"They'll be up there, then," Rivero said, rubbing at his nose. "Need a distraction."

Link, determination still honing his mind, sprang to his feet. He saw the glimmer of an opportunity to blot out the mistake he had made on his Test. "This is mine."

Before anyone could stop him, the young assassin had his crossbow ready, an arrow in place, and firing. The sharp steel tip snapped through one edge of the rope above with a twang as Link ran out into the hallway, hearing the rustle of movement from the balcony. He held his position, knowing that he was exposed for an instant. He saw the dark blurs above and waited, waited as the rope whispered its way downward.

Finally, the rope reached him and his fingers curled around its leathery surface, just after he locked three arrows into place in his weapon. He let his body go limp and the cord tugged him upwards as it made its return swing. The wind screamed in his ears, the narrow hallway hurtling past him. He had to fight to catch his breath, but the exhilaration was intoxicating. He held his crossbow steady, knowing that he'd catch their targets by surprise. Slowing as he reached the ceiling, Link paused, his eyes quickly scanning the balcony for dark, irregular shapes that would betray the ambushers' position. Twisting, he fired, jerked his hand, fired again, and twisted once more, hitting the last one, all in rapid fashion before the rope swung back downwards. He heard their surprised gasps and smiled, satisfied.

Abruptly, he was jolted to one side, and he looked up, seeing arrows strike the cord. Another came, and he was flung into the wall, shooting pains reeling through his shoulder. A gust of wind pushed past his face and he saw Jonah, riding his Glimmer Bird, firing at the unseen assailants. Link hung in the air, spinning, as his friend finished them off.

Jonah turned the bird slowly around towards Link and he hovered under him, letting the youngster drop down to safety.

"You should have just used Bannock," Jonah said with a smile. "Nice trick though."

Link grinned as they swooped down towards the others who were running to the door at the end of the hallway. He looked up at his friend, glad for his assistance. _Brothers for eternity_.

The bird curled its wings as they flew through the now-open door and entered a large chamber, spying a lone man sitting at a large banquet table, his guards lying motionless around him. The assassins had him surrounded and Montero, pulling the man's head back with a fistful of hair, had a knife to his neck. Jonah and Link fell to the ground in a run as the Glimmer Bird reverted back to its capsule form.

"Well, that _was_ entertaining," the King said, grinning.

They all turned to the sound of someone slowly clapping, and a figure stepped out of the corner. Link's heart froze when the person revealed himself.

Servion Boarhound.

The Hylian Chief, giving Link a brief, but meaningful glance, bowed slightly in front of the King. "That was magnificent, Your Highness," he murmured, a picture of humility. Link eyed him with suspicion. There was even a glint in Commander Kisho's eye.

"Ah…" the Commander said, searching for the correct words. "It was a good start, Your Highness." He was speaking slowly, trying to be careful as he picked his words. "Obviously, it won't always be as easy as this."

Montero waved them away. "No need to sweeten your words," he said with a mild growl. "It was just an exercise, nothing more." Link jerked as the King's gaze came to rest on him. "Servion, it seems your fellow Hylian here has a good mind. That was an interesting manoeuvre, boy."

Link swallowed, glancing at the Chief, wondering what he would say. It made him feel uneasy, though not as much as the realisation that Servion now knew that he was an assassin. What would the Chief say to his compatriots? "Thank you," Link mumbled. "Your Highness," he added in haste.

"Yes, yes," Servion said, stroking his chin. "Link here is…well-known…for thinking fast on his feet." He turned to the King. "In fact, Your Highness, if you remember, we have discussed him before."

Montero nodded and Link frowned automatically. Why would the either of them want to talk about him?

"Indeed," the King said. Link noticed that there was a trace of distaste in his voice whenever he addressed either Servion or himself. "He is everything you said he is."

There were confused looks from the other three assassins and Link could only shrug slightly in response.

"In fact," the Chief continued. "Before we discuss tomorrow night's…ah…mission, I would like to have a word with the young lad."

"By all means," Montero said, nodding, before he turned to Kisho and Rivero to engage them in conversation. The whole exercise had been nothing more than a practise run; the targets heavily armoured to protect them from the arrows and the poison faked, though its effects were well mimicked by the guard. It was Kisho's idea of a 'gentle' introduction for the King to the world that they lived in.

Link held his ground as Servion approached, and tried to keep his face blank, despite the disquiet he felt within. He searched the Chief's eyes, noticing, with a hint of surprise, the softness he saw there. Servion stopped in front of him with a smile, before laying one hand on his shoulder.

"Link," he said softly. "It seems I owe you an apology."

The young man's eyes narrowed, his heart caught halfway between hope and suspicion. "Apology?"

"Yes," the Chief said with a sigh. "What happened the other night at the Meeting House, it was a terrible mistake." He shook his head as though he had received an epiphany, and his face took on a chastened, repentant expression. "I was caught up in my emotions and tried to drag everyone down with me. I used two innocent scapegoats to satisfy my need for vengeance." The Chief looked up, his eyes wide and intense. "It was you, lad. You made me see sense." He chuckled, laying his head on Link's forehead. The younger man kept his composure, despite feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. That's all I wanted to say. I'm sorry." Finishing his words with a smile, he stepped back, reaching for his belt.

Link studied the Chief's face carefully. He certainly looked sincere, and Link saw no need to doubt him. What if it had been all just a mistake? Still. What happened _had_ been a little extreme.

His thoughts vanished as Servion pulled a long, glittering necklace of pearls from his belt. "For your sister," the Chief said, holding the gift out. "In case I said anything to you that might have been…ah…misinterpreted."

Instantly, Link was ready to forgive the man. Anyone that showed Mystral an act of kindness, no matter how small, was always considered near-heroic in Link's eyes. Grinning, he took the necklace, rolling the smooth, cream-coloured spheres under his fingers. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Servion's smile grew wider. "You're a good lad."

"But…" Link said, feeling nervous once more. "Now you know what I do."

The Chief looked at him carefully. "Link, I'm glad that we have people like you. People who can defend our people against threats." He paused, and something flickered in his eyes. "In fact, there's a specific reason why I'm here. There are some raiders from outside the town, entering the Hylian Quarter and stealing our livestock. Sometimes, they even run off with young girls." He looked down as if the thought was too horrendous. "Who knows that they do with them?" The Chief left the thought hanging in the air, until Link could feel his blood freeze as cold anger rose in his heart.

"What does this have to do with us?" Link said.

Servion sighed. "We've pinpointed one of their hideouts," he said. "Would you believe they have one situated in our Quarter itself? The arrogance of the people." The Chief shook his head again. "Anyway, I've arranged with the King to send your squadron in. He will be joining you on the mission tomorrow night." He clasped Link's shoulder again and fixed his eyes on the young man again. "Make us proud, Link. Make us proud."

Link felt something surge within him, patriotism, pride, he couldn't tell which. All he knew was that justice had to be served and his squadron would be the one to do it. Once again, he felt a twinge of disgust against those that said that assassins did no good in the world. He still felt a little uneasy towards the Chief, but something inside him realised that his good standing with his fellow Hylians would be restored if he made peace with Servion. At the moment, he would walk around the Hylian Quarter with his hurried steps and his head down, trying to ignore the pointed stares and the whispered insults that were still loud enough for him to hear. At a loss for words, Link could only nod to his Chief, his mind eager to start the mission.

...

Mystral sat at the old, wooden table, a steaming mug within her hands, as dawn's early light warmed her face. She smiled. The table was cheap, and the other women she knew would look down on her for owning it, but Mystral remembered a time when they had to use a dirty, torn cloth to eat from, their parents leaving them with little when they had died. It had been a difficult time, bringing up her baby brother. She missed the old times, days when she could go out to the fields around the town with her friends, their eyes sparkling as they shyly watched potential suitors approach them armed with grins and flowers.

Now, of course, no man approached her. The long nights trying to soothe a crying baby Link had drained her face and hair of their colour. There was no longer a twinkle in her eyes; instead, she had spent every waking moment wondering when their next meal was going to come. Then, the King had entered their life, giving Link a new lease on life by having him end the lives of others.

She sipped her drink, sighing at the irony of it all. Mystral still spent every waking moment worrying. No longer having to feel concerned about food and clothes, something she was eternally grateful for, she now had to endure the twisting of her heart as she waited in agony in case Link would no longer come home. More than that, though, was the fear, cold and curling around her heart, that he would come home, but changed. Already he was a distant young man, brooding more than others of his age. Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered the grinning and happy baby brother she once had, now transformed into this confident, calculating teen that had an aura of power that made her shiver. Sometimes there was a cold edge to him too, though, thankfully, he was anything but emotionless towards her. She wondered how long that would last.

Mystral heard the front door open with a snap and her body sagged with relief, the knot in her heart untying, a knot she hadn't even realised it was there. She let out a deep breath, and she could almost feel the wrinkles form on her skin and her hair turn grey. How long could she live like this? _Mama, Papa, why did you have to leave us?_ She caught herself, pushing the moment of weakness away with an ember of anger. They were both strong and they had survived this far. Sometimes, she noted, that other Hylians would look at them both with a far-away look, envious of the closeness of their bond. It was more than most people had, and Mystral was glad. She knew of a lot of wealthy families whose members barely spoke to one another, enjoying instead the company of their expensive trinkets. Mystral pitied them.

Link approached her, but she made a point of keeping her face straight and ignoring him. She was happy that he was home and safe, of course, but she always wanted to remind him of how much she disapproved of his role in life. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Link had an extra spring in his step. She didn't like the look of that. What was he up to? He made his way round to the back of her chair and she felt his hands approach her neck. Involuntarily, she flinched, thinking that he'd finally snapped, but felt a little shamed as she saw him hesitate in response to her reaction.

She waited. Finally, she felt something cold settle on her neck, and heard something click. She looked down, gasping as she caught sight of the necklace.

"Link," she said, a mixture of awe and suspicion in her voice. "Where did you get this from?" Her fingers reached up to touch the pearls, despite her reservations.

"A gift for you," he replied with a smile. "From the Chief."

Mystral glanced up at him, confused. "The Chief gave you a gift?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes," he said, moving away to fetch a mug for himself. "He's not a bad man, really."

His voice thinned a little as he said that and Mystral thought she could detect a trace of doubt. She sucked on her lower lip, deep in thought. "You didn't seem to think that the other night."

Link filled his mug with water, before turning to her, taking a sip. He ran one hand through his thick, blond hair, a sharp contrast to the dark tunic that was wrapped around his body. The gesture tugged at heart, reminding her of when she would ruffle his head as a child or stroke his hair whenever had been upset and tearful. She studied him once more, noticing that, despite his slender build, he still gave off an impression of great physical strength. He was probably, she noted with a wince of bitterness, very good at what he did. She wouldn't know, however, having refused to talk to him in detail about it.

"He apologised." Link continued. "Said he had been caught up in his emotions."

She saw his face flicker with hesitation. "What is it?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

"He knows what I do," Link said carefully, since Mystral had banned the word 'assassin' from her house. "We have a job for him tonight."

She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of tears. Her heart felt like it would drown in misery. She sighed.

"I'm sorry," he continued, surprising Mystral. Her brother had never apologised for what he did before. "What did you do last night?"

"I met some friends," she said, her voice weary. She couldn't muster up enough enthusiasm to continue the conversation any more. He was safe and that was all that mattered. "Looked over some new designs with them. We've been meeting every night this week. I'm going to Jeena's house tonight." She didn't really enjoy the company of the other women, finding them a little too shallow, but it kept her mind from worrying too much about Link. "It's just across the street," she added, trying to reassure him.

He nodded, moving away. Mystral could tell from his posture that he was tired and was heading to bed.

"Link," she said softly, making him pause. "Thank you for this." She stoked the necklace. He smiled in response, and their eyes locked, the same sadness and tenderness reflected in both their faces. "And, be careful."

...

Sheik and Kafei walked through the bustling mid-day crowds, each carrying an armful of supplies. Waves of heat baked the streets, melting the ice and lowering tolerance levels. Sheik would find herself scowling in exasperation whenever someone bumped into her, the itch of irritation dampening her spirits. It was still the middle of winter, and the weather was unusual, but neither of them had time to ponder on it. One of their relatives had worked extra hard for their employer, earning himself a bonus which the two of them had now used to buy more food and clothes.

The ground was coated in mud, a mixture of melted ice and dirt, and Sheik had to be careful about how she stepped in case she slipped. As casually as they could, they broke away from the main crowd, slipping down into the narrow alleyway that led home. The smell of decay assaulted their senses, but they were used to it, just as they were familiar with the scavenging animals that scurried out of their path.

"Nice day for a celebration," Kafei said with a grin as they dodged the broken debris on the ground.

Sheik glanced at him, offering only a smile. She looked down at the supplies she carried, the clarified butter, the bread still hot from the oven, and the few strips of red meat. It wasn't much, but it was always a reason for the Harkinians to rejoice. They stopped in front of the half-hidden door without looking up, and Sheik nudged at it with her elbow.

For a moment she didn't even realise what had happened, and only Kafei's gasp made her snap her head towards the entrance. The door had slowly swung open with a creak.

Sheik's mouth instantly dried and fear curled up from her gut. Kafei had already barged past her, dropping his supplies. Sheik stepped in after him slowly, her eyes glancing down to the jagged hole in the door where the lock was supposed to have been. The air was thick and suffocating as she set down her provisions. Something splashed under her feet. Swallowing, the dread making her heart thud, she looked down. A thin layer of blood, diluted with melted ice, coated the floor.

Her head began to swim as she moved in further, only one thought pounding in her head in time to her pulse. _They found us. I don't know how, but they found us. _She grit her teeth, trying to keep the notion from breaking free into a hysterical rant. It was then that she noticed the smell. Raw with decay like uncooked meat that had been left out too long, it was stronger than the stench from outside. Kafei had already entered the main guestroom, the place where she had met with the Princess the night after the attack.

Sheik pushed the door open, her head feeling light as though she were in a dream. For a bitter moment, she wished that this was exactly that, a blurry illusion that would fade as soon as she awoke. What she saw tightened her heart so much that she thought it would burst from the ache. Like dead and decaying logs, the remaining Harkinians were piled up high to the ceiling, their faces twisted with fear and pain, their eyes still open, the anger and fury still evident. Blood dripped to the carpet in slow, soft thuds.

She recognised some of them and that just made the grief grow. Here, Cassandra Harkinian, old and withered, who had once taken Sheik to the forests as a child to pick berries. There was Mikrael, a young, handsome man with honey coloured hair who would tease her about her disguise, claiming that she'd never catch a husband if she covered herself up, while she had protested indignantly, saying that she didn't need to be immodest to be wed and, besides, she was still young. His hair was torn now, and dyed red. She felt a breath of satisfaction upon her heart, seeing the ferocious look on Mikrael's face and the many wounds, gaping and puckered, that stared back from his body. At least, she knew, they had put up a fight. So many faces, so many lives, now nothing more than butchered flesh, cold and empty, skin hardening and streams of blood drying.

Desperately trying to control her breathing, Sheik swallowed big, gasping gulps of air as she fell to her knees, whimpering. Kafei stood still, the muscles in his cheek and arms twitching. His eyes were hard and glazed with pain.

"Animals," he barked, his voice raspy and tight. He stepped forward, his eyes searching. Sheik realised with a distracted, dull feeling that he was searching for his wife and child. She felt her heart spike with pain.

"Somebody must have escaped," Kafei whispered as he looked over the corpses. "Somebody, anybody." His voice started to rise and Sheik watched carefully, dumbstruck. "Somebody! Please!" He was growling now, and he struck his hand against one wall, rattling the paintings that hung there.

Suddenly Sheik averted her eyes, not wanting to see the either the horrific sight of baby Hobert in the pile of corpses or to see Kafei break down and sob like she knew he was going to. Something shifted in a corner. She froze, feeling her heart lurch. Someone was still alive.

"Kafei," she said, her eyes directing him to the fallen relative. The older man looked up, seeing what she saw and they both rushed over to the man. He was lying back against the wall, his blood smeared there. The light was fading fast from his eyes, a trickle of red falling from the deep gash on his head. Large, puffy bruises decorated his face and she couldn't recognise straight away who he was. Sheik knew he wasn't going to live long and she had to bite down to keep herself from instinctively tearing off strips of her tunic to dress his wounds. Dully, in the back of her mind, she realised how callous her actions were, but she knew that, paradoxically, time was running out and they needed information.

Her fingers curled around the man's shirt. "The Princess," she barked, her voice insistent. "Where's the Princess?" Sheik hadn't noticed her body in the macabre heap and hope still fought against the grief in her heart.

"And Anju," Kafei growled. "Where are my wife and son?"

The man looked up at Kafei briefly, before turning back to face Sheik. "Some of us escaped," he croaked, the effort of speech obviously causing him pain.

Sheik saw Kafei's hand curl into a tightened fist. "I knew it!" he whispered, his trembling voice high with optimism. "Was my wife with them? Talk, man!"

"Kafei!" Sheik warned, glaring. "Give him time."

The elder man matched the intensity of her stare for an instant, before he backed off with a nod.

She looked back at the injured man. "The Princess," she said gently.

"Escaped," the man said. Sheik closed her eyes, and let out a deep breath. "But they didn't get far."

Her eyes snapped open. "What happened?"

"They managed to get outside," he said. "The Princess was captured." He looked up at Kafei. "And your wife and child. Others, too."

"Who did this?" Kafei asked, the anger and pain bubbling in his voice.

"Assassins," the man replied. His body was starting to sag, and Sheik winced, knowing she would witness his death. She felt sick. "I overheard them. They'll take the Princess and the others to the Castle." He swallowed, pinning his gaze on Sheik. "The assassins said it was one of us."

"One of us?" Sheik asked, confused.

He tried to nod, but ended up coughing violently. "One of us told them. Told them where we were."

Sheik saw the man's eyes light up for the last time, pinpricks of intensity shining therein. She opened her mouth, realising the accusation she saw there, but it was too late. With a blink and a sigh, he slid down the wall, his head rolling to one side as he slipped from life. Slowly, her hands shaking, Sheik stood up. She sensed Kafei reaching for her shoulder, but she jerked out of his grasp, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

Outside, she welcomed the openness of the air and the sun's light that warmed her face. Blinking away tears, she tried to think, to plan. Her soul felt numb and she knew nothing could fill the hollow pit in her heart. Everything and everyone that had defined her life had been ripped from her in one moment of madness. She wished she had been there with them, fighting to the last breath.

Sheik felt Kafei walk up slowly behind her. "What do we do?" he asked carefully.

It felt strange to her that he would ask her for advice, but it didn't bother her. She knew exactly what she wanted to do. Without realising it, her gaze drifted to the Castle and she felt something ignite in her heart, burning fiercely.

"We rescue the Princess."

...

Link wondered if he only ever really lived at night. Darkness shrouded him again, his squadron surrounding the barren, wooden building that stood, silent and still, in a deserted part of the Hylian Quarter. Lights shone from the inside, the glow coating the glass windows like syrup. Link swallowed, trying to ease his tightened throat. His heart felt abnormally enlarged, each thud ending in a painful tremor. He reached down, taking a handful of soil into his fingers and letting it crumble. The cold, hard sensation reminded him that this was very real.

This was it. His first real kill. His heart trembled again in response to the thought. They were all waiting, crouched, as they spied Jonah walking towards the door, his footsteps light, his back bent. He looked like a black blur, moving swiftly and silently. Link's thoughts drifted, remembering his previous missions. Only three hits under his belt, and all those had been easy ones, striking the target from a distance and melting away into the shadows. He had been cushioned in those operations, the rest of the squadron doing all the hard work and keeping him well-protected.

Link released a breath, rubbing the palm of his hand on his tunic to wipe off the sweat. Despite the heat on his skin, the air was chilly and biting, a far cry from the warmth from earlier in the day. The temperature had dropped so rapidly that soft flakes of snow were floating in the wind, buffeted to and fro. It was strange; this sudden change in the climate, but Link had bigger things to worry about. He swallowed again, but his mouth was too dry.

Rivero glanced over at him. "The boy's getting jitters, Commander."

Kisho and Montero turned towards him, and Link felt his mouth twitch, annoyed that the big man had pointed out his weakness so easily. Link noticed the lines on the Commander's face and the worried expression that hung there. He knew that Kisho concerns weren't directed at him. Rather, the Commander was anxious to keep the King, who had insisted on joining them, safe on this mission. If anything happened to Montero the entire squadron would bear the brunt of it.

"Link," Kisho said softly and quietly. "You can wait here if you want. You don't have to do this."

Link hissed inwardly. That was the _last_ thing he wanted. "No," he replied firmly. "I'm with you."

"He might be a liability," Rivero said, and again Link felt his anger flare. The older man was talking as though Link weren't even there.

Kisho cut the big man off with a glare. "If he said he can do it, then he can _do_ it."

Link tried to keep the smile from his face, but failed. He felt himself relax, pleased that his Commander had faith in him. Not for the first time in his life, Link felt a wave of love for Kisho. He noticed, though, that the King was eyeing him with mild interest. Link kept his gaze away, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt about that.

Jonah's shrill whistle made them look up. The door was open and the young man was waiting.

Kisho turned to them. "Remember, quick and silent," he said. "Rivero and I will head up to the upper level and shoot out the lanterns from there. Then we'll have the element of surprise and the cover of darkness." He tensed, pausing to run his finger down the bowstring of his crossbow. "The lanterns are set up high on one side of the room, or so Servion told us. We won't be able to see the targets from our position, just the lights. The rest of you," and here he turned to Link and the King, "will enter the main Hall and kill as many of the men as possible. You do _not_ have to get all of them. Straight in, straight out. Understand?"

Link nodded, a heavy weight settling on his heart. He tried to calm his breath, but the knot in his gut wouldn't loosen. He understood Kisho's haste. The Commander wanted to keep the King protected, just like they had shielded Link on earlier missions. At the same time, he did not want to offend Montero by leaving him off the more 'dirtier' end of the operation.

Kisho gave them one last look. "Go!"

They ran, exposed to the open air for the briefest of moments, their boots snapping fallen branches and cracking tiny pools of ice. Link still couldn't control the thudding of his heart and he knew that, this time, the assassins' mantra would not work. They caught up to Jonah and they entered the building without slowing, the younger man spinning on his heel to match their pace. Rivero and Kisho peeled off from them, making their way to a ladder perched against a wall on one side. The other three continued running, slipping down the twisting hallways that led to the main hall in the centre.

The building was bare, no carpets, no decorations. It was constructed entirely out of wood, chipped and stained from age. An old, musty smell hung in the air, as though the building had been uninhabited for a long time. Link supposed that that was the exact impression the raiders wanted to give to outsiders to blunt any curiosity. Lanterns hung on hooks high on the walls, the metal containers blackened and bent after many summers of use. Link and Jonah kept their feet light, their boots making soft thuds against the wooden boards. Montero, though, still wasn't so subtle, and Link winced, wondering if the thumps of the King's boots would give their presence away. Then again, he realised, it was still very quiet in the building.

An opening appeared up ahead in the wall, a door that had been left open.

Jonah snapped his head towards Link. "Roll," he barked in a harsh whisper. "Cover."

Link nodded, knowing exactly what he had to do. Twirling his crossbow up from his belt and into his hand, he dived ahead, as the other two men skidded to a halt. He hit the ground in front of the opening with a roll, his eyes and weapon swinging towards the open door, scanning quickly. His trigger finger was ready for the slightest hint of danger. He saw only inky darkness.

Springing himself back to his feet, Link pressed his back against the wall, ignoring the dull throb of his protesting muscles. His eyes met Jonah's, and he gave his friend a small nod. "Safe."

Jonah returned the gesture, holding Link's gaze for an instant. The younger assassin saw the light of pride in his friend's eyes and he smiled, the connection between the two men strengthened. Jonah and King ran over to him, and Link whirled around to fall into their sprint. Action had melted Link's doubts and fears away, like iron purified in a blazing fire. His movements were fluid now, every step he took spurred on by surging determination. He was enjoying himself, and he felt the frown from his face fall away. Everything was going smoothly. This wouldn't be like his Test at all.

They saw the light of the main hall fall on the floor ahead of them, and they knew they were nearing their targets. Link heard the hum of modified crossbows beside him, and he knew that Jonah and the King were preparing themselves. Flicking a switch, Link felt his weapon whirr comfortably, the string snapping tight with a twang, the burning stench of explosive powder floating in the air. Reaching back, he pulled free a handful of arrows, locking them into place in the tiny grooves within the bowstring. The modified crossbow was a lot different from the ancient bows that Link admired so much. They packed a lot more power for one thing, and could grip arrows in place without fear of them falling or coming loose.

Link looked up as he heard the rhythmic crack and pop of arrows breaking through lanterns up ahead. Rivero and Kisho. One by one, the lights faded, and darkness crawled over the room like a cloak. Link caught sight of one lantern, the blue flame curling into the air, before evaporating, extinguished. He frowned. There were no shouts of surprise from up ahead. No cries of alarm. It was eerily quiet.

Finally, the room went black and Jonah and the King darted ahead, the silence obviously not concerning them. Link followed them, a little more cautiously as his uneasiness returned, adjusting his sight to adapt to the darkness. He pushed his doubts away once more, putting them down to nervousness. Maybe Rivero was right; maybe he was just too jittery. His training had taught him to identify targets where there was little or no light, and his eyes trailed across the large room now, picking out the dark, squirming shapes. He held his arm out straight now, slowly swinging his crossbow from left to right.

Bubbles of orange flame burst in and out of the darkness and he heard the buzz of arrows as they flew free. Jonah and Montero were firing, and Link saw the murky shapes fall one by one, all too easily. The sound of the weapons sounded far too loud in his ears. But what bothered him more was the reaction of the raiders. Why weren't they screaming?

"Link." He heard Jonah's voice float over to him. "Fire!"

Taking in a deep breath, Link tightened his grip on his weapon. He focused on one of the shapes, cowering in one corner. A trickle of doubt curled through his heart like ice. Why, if they were such fearless raiders, were they not fighting back?

"Link!"

The urgency in his friend's voice made Link panic. He grit his teeth, trying to make the world and his thoughts fade away. Aiming at the shape, Link curled his finger around the trigger. _Let your heart grow cold._

It didn't work. Instead, paralysis clutched his soul, sucking him down, dizzying him. He growled, pushing away the rising bile in his throat. He would not let himself weaken. He _would not._

The twang of a string following into a hum as the arrows continued to fly. There were still no screams, only the bubbling gurgles of pain mixed with soft gasps. Something about the latter struck the young assassin as odd.

Link pushed on the trigger so hard that it sent a sliver of pain through his hand. His arm recoiled from the shot, the arrow screaming through the air, the wisp of smoke tickling his nose. He tasted sweet satisfaction in his mouth as the arrow pierced the raider's torso with a wet thud. The raider staggered back, his arms whirling, before he fell to the ground. He shuffled on the ground, still alive. Link strangely felt no desire to finish him off.

Swinging the weapon around, Link picked out another target, aimed, and fired. The raider was thrown back by the force of the arrow, hitting the floor with a crunch. Again, Link saw the man's body jerk, life still kicking inside of him. Link felt his heart deflate everytime he wanted to push on and end the man's life, as if there were tiny claws pulling his heart away from his intentions. It felt as though he could only go so far. It didn't matter. This was more than he had managed on his Test and the raider would think twice before he continued on his destructive path in life. It was easier now, and he felt a dark thrill in his heart. His mouth curled into a smile, a throaty chuckle breaking free. The raiders would learn a lesson this day. No longer would they force their twisted and corrupt hearts onto innocent Hylians. And yet, something screamed at him from the back of his mind. One word, rolling around and around. _Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!_

"Over there." It was Montero's voice. "By the far wall. Someone is trying to escape."

Link looked ahead, seeing the shape trying to scramble to safety. Briefly, he wondered how the King could see in the darkness, despite not having any formal training yet. Letting his distractions float free from his mind, Link aimed. The orange flash from his crossbow propelled the arrow ahead, spinning, and he saw it strike the raider on his shoulder, pushing him back, before finally pinning him to the wall.

Link spat, trying to remove the coppery taste from his mouth. A door splintered into dust on the far side, and the hall was suddenly flooded with light as a horde of men entered, each carrying a lantern.

The young assassin jerked when he saw their faces. Then, as more and more lanterns lit up the room, his heart lurched as the scene revealed itself. He took a shaky step backwards, his arm and mouth dropping down. Link tried to breathe, but his throat tightened, suffocating him. Suddenly, there wasn't enough air in the massive room.

Lying on the floor in front of him, blood and arrows coating their bodies, were not any raiders, oh no. There weren't even any men. They were all women.

_Hylian _women.

His vision blurred as burning tears flooded his eyes. The muscles in his legs cramped, seizing his entire body with pain. Link looked around him slowly, seeing the dead women, some of whom he recognised. Some were still moving, barely crawling over to the men that had entered, and Link knew, with a slightest glimmer of relief, that they were the ones he had struck. No one had died because of his actions. At least, not yet. At the back of his mind, he acknowledged that both Jonah and Montero had gone, leaving him in a room full of injured, blood soaked women, while he alone carried a crossbow.

Instinctively, Link searched out the one he had pinned to the wall, his mind, frozen with dread, already knowing who it would be. He let out a moan as his eyes fell on her face. Her beautiful, kind, loving face.

"Mystral!" he cried. Her eyes were closed, and her skin pale. His arrow had neatly pierced her just under her shoulder, letting free a small flood of wet blood. Tears fell freely now and Link reached out a hand, stepping forward. The men turned to him, warning him off with a snarl. He saw Deak; his face a horrific picture of pure hatred, and Link stepped back, shaken and dazed. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, making him believe it would rip free from his chest and end his life. He almost wished it would. He took another step back as stares of hot venom pinned him, and the howls of bereaved husbands and sons sank into his soul.

His mind whirled, screaming with pain and confusion. What were the women doing here? They shouldn't _be_ here! And where were the rest of his squadron?

Link's eyes searched the crowd of men for the Chief. His heart continued to beat faster and faster, sweat coating his skin and his arm trembled, his crossbow hanging loose in his hand. The others were barely paying him any attention as they rushed to their loved ones. He had to find Servion. The Chief would explain everything, would tell them that it was nothing more than a terrible mistake.

At last Servion appeared, his face ashen and his eyes cold. Link's heart bubbled with hope, and he waited, eager for the Chief to speak. Servion threw Link a disgusted glance. "It seems as though one of us has misgivings about killing pathetic Calatians, but little qualms over killing Hylians," the Chief said with a snarl. "Women too. How brave."

The words pounded at Link's head, and he could make no sense of them. The world blurred around him, making him feel lightheated. He felt his throat start to retch, but he clenched his muscles, trying to keep everything still. There was only one thing that mattered to him now. There was only one thing that he could focus on.

He glanced up at his sister's face again, the all-too-still expression on her face making his heart crack. She shouldn't be like this. She should be up and about, scolding him for not doing his chores, smiling at him, talking, _anything._

"Mystral," he croaked in a whisper.

This time the men did notice him, and they stood, freeing their daggers from their scabbards. Servion hissed at him, fixing Link with a narrow-eyed stare. The Chief's mouth curled into a wide, almost insane, grin.

"You better _run_, boy."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Pain gripped Link's heart, each thud feeling like a spike in his chest. It was as though grief itself was a beast, sinking its talons into the centre of his soul. Dawn's early light washed the night away, but it was not the cause for the red mist that the hurt young man saw in his vision; a blood-red coating that would flash into the blackest darkness, depending on whether his whirling emotions were focused on his anguish or his cold, cold fury. The muscles in his face and arm were tight, like ice transformed into steel, and his mind was ablaze. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. All he could do was _feel; _the deep ache in his core as raw as his throat, driven hoarse by his continuous cries of rage.

He flew Bannock onwards through the near deserted streets of the Hylian Quarters as the people – _his_ people, those who he had grown up with, played with as a child, shared their joys and woes with – gave chase, their faces haggard, their hands clutching rusty daggers. An early arrow had caught the bird as soon as he had emerged from his capsule, and was now unable to turn himself invisible. The familiar sights of the Quarter, the Hylian Meeting House, the baker's shop where he would buy flour for Mystral, the old tannery where he would go exploring when he was younger, sped past him, now looking cold and alien, a ghostly blur in his eyes.

Digging his nails into the Glimmer Bird's hide until he drew blood, Link spurred Bannock on, making him jerk left and right as he tried to shake off his pursuers. He'd left Servion and the first group of men far behind, but as news quickly spread through the small enclave like an alcohol-fuelled fire, more and more people joined the chase, eager to gain vengeance on the murdering turncoat. The bird, who made little protest, banked a little too sharply to the left while making a turn, and Link's shoulder crashed into planks of wood resting against a building, almost making him topple from his ride, and spraying splinters into his arm. He didn't even feel it.

Link threw a glance over his shoulder as he tried to fight the dark whirlpool of despair in the hollow centre of his heart, threatening to pull him under. It was tempting, almost comforting. He saw them, the wild-eyed Hylians driven on by their own madness, running underneath a canopy, on top of which were stacked steel poles, ready to be used by the traders in the morning for their stalls. Instantly, Link had his crossbow ready.

Bannock threw him a wary glance. "If you do that, you might kill someone," he said solemnly.

"Is that _so?_" Link spat, feeling a needle of anger jab into his finger as he pushed down hard on the trigger. The arrow hummed across the space between Link and his pursuers, before tearing through the canopy with a wet rip. The Hylians scattered, realising what was going to happen. Some were not fast enough, though, and the thick, steel poles rained in on them like a slow-moving grey waterfall. Link heard the sickening wet snap of broken bones and the accompanying shrill screams. He turned away, satisfied, and felt his mouth curl automatically into an insane, twisting grin. Somewhere deep inside, he felt his soul protest the action, but the dull, heavy weight of his personal grief drowned it out.

"Link," the Glimmer Bird said cautiously. "I know you'll be wanting me to fly higher and faster soon. I need to rest a moment. Just a few minutes."

The young assassin felt the angry retort rise to his lips. What was wrong with this stupid creature? How could it be so weak?

Bannock saw it coming. "It won't take long," he said quickly. "Then we can be free."

Link tried to control his breathing, as the raspy, frantic wheeze took hold of him. Finally, he closed his eyes, nodding. He relaxed, letting the bird control his own flight. Gently, Bannock drifted down towards a narrow, deserted pathway, sandwiched between two large buildings and smelling of decay and disuse. Link disembarked, faintly noticing the orange tinge to the sky as the sun rose. Bannock shuffled off to one side, hanging his head as he tried to recuperate.

Idly, Link remembered how old Horiartia, one of their neighbours, had reacted when her husband had been found dead one summer's morning. She had gone out just after dawn to buy some meat for a special meal she had wanted to cook, and had returned to find her beloved lying stiff and grey on the floor. Her screams had awoken the people in nearby houses, including Link's own. He had been small then, and had not understood what was happening, but the sight of the woman tearing out her own hair as Mystral and others tried to comfort her had chilled him to the soul.

Now, though, he understood her perfectly, and sympathised. He remembered Mystral's words that day. 'Death is a shadow's sword that will effect all of us, in some form or another, throughout our lives.' Link had found the words far too desolate, and it wasn't until he had received his assassins' training that he had been able to wash his heart of them. Now they returned to him, all too real, and all too true. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how Mystral had reacted to the death of their own parents, but the thought of his sister made the image of her ashen, unmoving face tear across his mind like fire. He had to push it deep, deep down under his soul as though he were hiding a pebble in a bundle of hay.

"Link."

He spun around, raising his crossbow. Fran was there, a thick, woollen cloak wrapped tightly around shoulders, watching Link with calm eyes.

The young man gripped his weapon tighter. "Keep _away_ from me," he gasped. A sudden idea exploded in his mind, lacing his thoughts with suspicion. "How did you know I was here?"

Fran kept his gaze on him. "It's not hard to track a visible Glimmer Bird," he said, his voice oddly serene and thoughtful.

Link flexed his fingers on the trigger. He could hear his own breathing; too fast and too shallow just like his hammering heart. "Keep away," he insisted.

The older man's dark eyes smouldered, a hardness appearing on his face. "Put that down, Link," he said. "You must stay calm." He raised his arms in a peaceful gesture, readying himself to move forward.

Link dug his heels into the ground. "Take one step closer and, I swear, I'll shoot you where you stand."

Fran's eyes blazed, turning instantly into hot, black coals. Link saw his own face reflected there; saw his forehead and cheeks twisted and saw the madness in his own bloodshot eyes. In a blur, Fran reached back behind his cloak, pulling free an old, polished bow, one feather-tailed arrow already in place. For a brief moment, Link was distracted, taking a step back as the beauty of the intricately carved weapon took his breath away. He composed himself within seconds, idly wondering where and why Fran had learned to use such a piece of art as that bow.

They stood there, facing one another, weapons aimed. Neither man flinched; the steel tips of their arrows barely a few notches apart. The chill morning breeze played with their hair and pinched their cheeks. The air between them contracted, the intensity of their stares betraying no sign that either one of them would relent.

"I said," Fran continued, each slow word punctured by a moment of silence. "Put the weapon _down_."

Something welled up inside of the young man at that very instant. It forced its way to the surface like a hot spring and broke through his soul like the cracking of ice under a hot sun. His eyes burned as the tears came. The crossbow in his hand trembled.

"I killed her," Link said, his voice breaking.

Fran's eyes sparkled with understanding. Still, he did not lower his bow. "She's not dead, lad," he said softly, his voice thick with pity.

Link's whole body was shuddering now, tiny sobs escaping from his mouth. He grit his teeth. "I _killed_ her."

"She's _not dead._" Fran sighed. "The word is that she's injured badly, but she's alive. You were tricked, lad. Servion called all the women to a 'special function' late last night. I tried to find you, but you were gone already."

The young man didn't even acknowledge the last few words. He cocked his head to one side. "Mystral is alive?"

"Aye, lad."

Link let his arm drop, and strode ahead, pushing past Fran. "I have to find her."

The old man shoved him back violently, catching Link by surprise. He slipped in a patch of dirty, black ice, almost twisting his ankle. He glared up at the elder man.

"Don't be insane, lad," Fran said. "They'll cut you to ribbons first."

A grin curled across Link's face as he pinned Fran with a hot stare. "I'll kill them _all,"_ he growled, his voice barely more than a whisper. He felt saliva trickle down his chin.

The elder man shook his head, sighing once more. "I know it's difficult, Link, but you must stay calm. You're not thinking clearly." His breath coiled into the air as steam while he waited for the young man to find his bearings.

Suddenly, Link lunged at him, his fingers curling around Fran's collar. "What do you _want_ with me, old man?" he barked. "Why do you keep following me? Did Servion put you up to this? Did he?"

Fran snapped his arms up, breaking free of Link's grasp. The young assassin dropped back, surprised at the elder man's swiftness, and stumbled. Fran didn't waste any time, knocking Link to the ground with a punch to the side of the head, more humiliating than it was painful.

"Now," Fran said, rubbing his fist. "You're going to come with me. We need to find out why the Chief did this. I can't believe it was simply petty revenge."

Link looked up at him, breathing deeply. "Go with you where?"

"To my home," Fran replied, flicking his eyes down at the fallen young man. "You don't have to trust me, lad. I know that you won't. But you don't have much choice." He paused, frowning. "If I really wanted Servion to find you, I would have met you with a group of his own men." He held Link's gaze. "I have no loyalty to the Chief."

Link's head dropped, as he gave his response with a small nod. He was shaking even harder now, his breathing irregular and wild. His hands curled into fists, the nails digging into the palms and splitting skin. He could sense Fran and Bannock waiting in silence. The old man seemed to understand perfectly what was happening. His eyes aflame and his heart thudding with an almost malignant rhythm, Link threw back his head and screamed his rage at the heavens, pouring out his grief in a long, sustained roar.

...

Sheik and Kafei crouched beside the old, rust-encrusted duct, the metal-grille covering broken and bent. Moss encircled it, dirty brown-green in colour. It was at odds with the polished jade marble of the Castle's wall. Water, stagnant and yellow, dripped from the top to the bottom, the acrid stench almost making them both gag. Kafei had led her to this place, where the Castle faced a part of the city that wasn't so densely populated. Somehow he had known about this overlooked entrance to the inside.

The enclave here consisted of mixed races. The people who lived here were those that worked in the Castle itself, the carpenters, the bakers, the messengers, amongst many others. If they had no family of their own, or could not afford a dwelling, they were housed in this Quarter. Large wooden doors, frost stroking the surface, indicated the rear entrance to the Castle, the place where trade deliveries were made. Briefly, Sheik had tried to formulate a plan to enter through that way, but Kafei had said that there was a better way in.

Sheik looked at the dirty duct now, her face creasing into a grimace automatically. It was wide enough for them to crawl through, but it didn't seem a very pleasant prospect. An image of the Princess' face floated into her head and she felt a surge of determination mixed with love.

"After you," Kafei said dryly.

Sheik flicked a glance over at him. "Are you sure you can find the dungeons?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied quickly. "I'm familiar with the layout of the Castle."

She felt her eyebrow arch. "How?" she said. "When did you ever learn about the Castle?"

He looked away, peering forward to examine the duct. "A long time ago." He glanced back at her, smiling. "When you were a little girl."

Satisfied, she nodded, taking in a deep breath before she gripped the sides of the metal tube, ready to enter. "Let's go in."

Kafei laid a hand on her arm. "I'll lead," he said, the firm expression on his face contradicting his earlier jibe.

She relaxed, relenting, and he crawled in. Sheik tried to ignore the smell that wafted in the air around her and the icy slime that was now coating her gloves and tunic. Their shuffling movements echoed around them, and Sheik had to struggle to keep sight of Kafei in the murky darkness ahead. Sometimes she would falter, the reality of her surroundings breaking through the steely self-control of her mind, but then she would think of the Princess and love would bolster her heart and keep her going.

Without even a moment's notice, the world cracked around her, and the air contracted as the whispers returned with a burning intensity that racked her mind. They swirled around her head with a fierce strength that she'd never experienced before. It felt as though her heart was being sucked from her chest. Slowly, the whispers slowed, the disparate voices uniting into one word, a word that she was surprised to realise she could understand perfectly.

_Revenge._

And then the world righted itself and the tunnel returned to her vision, the voices gone. She looked up to see Kafei gazing over his shoulder at her with an odd expression.

"Yes, exactly," he said, his voice sounding metallic in the enclosed space. "Revenge."

Her mouth dropped open and ice stabbed her heart. Had she said that out loud? The thought gnawed at her, filling her with dread. What was happening to her?

The immense weight of their task diverted her thoughts, and Sheik chastised herself for embarking on such a foolish undertaking. It was strange, though, that Kafei had not objected to the plan at all; indeed, he appeared to be very eager to go through with it. He probably wanted to find Anju and Hobert as fast as possible, and his mind had shut out any dissenting doubts.

Sheik couldn't tell for how long they crawled along those grimy ducts, before Kafei called for a halt, opening a hatch set in the floor. They dropped into a partly-darkened room, their boots scuffing the marble floor with a squeak. Sheik looked up, noticing the shimmering purple circles that were set into the wall, spaced in a regular pattern.

"What are those?" she asked.

Kafei followed her gaze. "Portals. The assassins use them to travel to various places in the country."

The cold efficiency of their enemies made Sheik shiver more than the temperature could, and she pulled her eyes away from the hypnotic swirls of energy as Kafei strode across the room. She felt strengthened now that they were inside, and her fingers trailed across the hilt of her daggers, her heart bubbling with anticipation.

"Where are the dungeons?" she said, her voice laced with keen expectation. Her fingers flexed, the prospect of seeing the Princess again making her edgy.

"This way," Kafei said gruffly, leading her down one of the corridors that branched away from the room.

Once again, Sheik was struck by the extravagance of the Castle. Walls draped with gold and royal-blue hangings, underneath which elaborately painted decorations struggled to peek out, bordered the rich, padded carpets. This time she felt no envy. To her, after seeing what these people had done to her family, all the pretty baubles and embellishments were coated with the blood of a people who had struggled to just eat day by day. She knew that those who lived in the Castle had no such concerns themselves, and the injustice of it all burned in her veins. Again, her fingers tapped on her daggers. She wouldn't kill anyone, oh no, but she could make them hurt; force them to share in the pain that she carried around in her heart like the crushing weight of a massive boulder. A sour taste flooded her mouth as the idea took hold of her.

She remembered the stories the Elders would tell her as a child to help her to adjust to their situation. They spoke of the evil men would do to others urged on by greed; the murders, the deception and the sheer callousness that would drive people to insanity just to possess shiny trinkets or glittering jewels. She'd never understood the people in those stories. She had always preferred the laughs and the simple companionship of her relatives than any cold, emotionless object, though, sometimes, she had found her family's presence constricting and irritating. Her heart sank as she realised that she would never have that problem ever again.

Her musings broke as Kafei abruptly turned down another hallway, one that ended in a flight of stairs leading down into the underbelly of the castle. The air was more stifling down here, and a damp breeze stroked Sheik's face. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she wondered why they hadn't met any people yet. It was still early morning, and perhaps people were still rising from their slumbers. Sheik could believe it. These people were probably as lazy as they were lavish.

Here, the Castle's beauty evaporated as stone walls ran alongside the dusty pathway. Hanging lanterns made up for the lack of natural light, but Sheik would have preferred the darkness as opposed to the sight that greeted her. Row upon row of dark, low-ceilinged cells had been built into the walls, the steel bars rusted, and the smell of waste clinging to the air.

Sheik rushed past Kafei, her eyes searching. Peering into each cell, she frantically tried to find the last remaining Harkinian survivors, but all she found were empty beds and forgotten meals, rotted and grey. Frustration itched at her mind. She needed to find the Princess. Custom and awe restrained her from mentioning her name, and now even her thoughts would not utter it. The Princess was high above the rest of them, the most important of all Harkinians. Any sort of filial relationship to her was ignored in favour of acknowledging her immense status. Sheik, lost in her thoughts, glanced back down the corridor to motion to Kafei.

Except he was no longer there. Grinning, and with their weapons drawn, the royal guards stared back at her, big, burly men with broken teeth and scarred skin.

Sheik spun on her feet, feeling strangely calm. She reached for her daggers as the four men stepped forward. Good, she thought. Let them come.

...

They made their way out of the town, heads hung low and hooded; their eyes and faces hidden from both each other and potential onlookers. Bannock was back in his capsule and resting in Link's belt. There were still groups of Hylians patrolling the streets searching for the young assassin, but more practical matters had come to the front as the sun had risen and the narrow pathways were now filled with traders, their flowery language exaggerating their wares. Townsfolk, eyes wary and questioning, drifted from stall to stall. Fran and Link mixed in with the latter as headed for the exit at the edge of New Hyrule Town.

The further and further they walked from the centre of the enclave, the less people they saw. The polished, well-constructed houses and shops gave way to old, rotting buildings with their painted walls buried under layers of dirt. The houses, in turn, gave away to the fields that hemmed the town in, and hills rose from the horizon, rocky caves sitting atop them. Grass, brittle and frozen, crunched under their feet as Fran led them onto a worn dirt path, rock solid from the cold. Dead trees lined either side of the trail, their branches bare and coated in frost. The path rose and wound its way around one of the hills as the two men trudged on in silence.

Fran did not expect Link to speak, but he was glad that the young man had not let his anger get the better of him so far. He glanced at the youth, noting the dull look in his eyes. At least, he had calmed down somewhat. This was, he knew, a delicate situation. There were a lot of differences between the Link he had known in the past to this 'new' youth. Fran hadn't understood how and why Link could exist here and now, until, that is, he had met someone with the knowledge of ancient matters that had told him about the Cycle. It was that man that he would have to take Link to next, but first, they had to get home.

Fran's little hut stood high upon a hill outside New Hyrule Town. He hadn't felt the urge to mix and live with these people, still feeling a stranger to them. His home was a modest place, and was enough to fulfil his immediate needs. Here he had watched as Link, as a child, had climbed to the caves up above, sitting at the edge, and gazing down with a pensive look. He had never disturbed the boy; in fact, Link hadn't even known he was watching. Still, Fran marvelled at how alike the youth looked to the Link he had briefly met and travelled with so long ago. Yet, despite their similarities in physical appearances, their personalities were quite different.

Finally, they reached the hut, and Fran unlocked and opened the door, making his way straight to the fireplace as soon as he entered. He crouched, brushing away the black and grey ash from previous fires, and piled up some fresh logs, sprinkling a tiny amount of the explosive powder upon them. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Link shuffle into the house, this being his first visit to Fran's home. Igniting the fire with a flint, Fran moved onto the stove as Link pulled out a chair from the table in the centre and sat down.

The old man poured some water into a pot, watching as lumps of ice fell into the copper container, and then added some herbs. He lit the stove, and waited until the water boiled. Pulling a mug from the cupboard, Fran peered in, grimacing as he saw the stains that sat at the bottom. He found another, cleaner one and poured the steaming concoction into it. It hissed as it filled the mug, bubbling as it reached the rim. He placed it in front of the young man.

"Here," said Fran. "Drink this."

Link looked at the drink suspiciously. "What is it?"

"It'll make you feel a little better."

The young man pushed the mug away. "You drink some first."

Fran sighed. "Alright, lad."

He picked it up, Link eyeing him warily, and took a sip. The spicy flavour spread across his tongue and he smacked his lips, before returning the drink to the youth. Link looked at it for a moment, and then picked it up. Wincing as he sniffed at the liquid, he gingerly took a sip. After a moment's hesitation, he gulped the rest down hungrily. Fran grinned.

Link scratched at the table in impatience. "What will happen to Mystral?"

"I dare say she'll be safe," Fran replied. "If something happened to her, then the people would become too suspicious of the Chief. She's not a threat."

Shaking his head, Link leaned back in the chair. "Why am _I_ a threat?"

"I don't know, lad," Fran said thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "What happened to your friends?"

"Friends?" Link asked, as though the concept were unfamiliar to him.

"Aye. Your team mates."

Link paused, his face pinched with pain. The fire started to pop, sending out waves of heat into the room, and filling the air with the smoky scent of burning wood. "They left me," he said finally, his eyes distant. "I don't know why."

Fran sighed. "Then there's more than meets the eye to this little escapade," he said. "We need to leave. I have a friend who might be able to help. We'll pick up some supplies on the way there."

His eyes trailed across his little home, a dull spot growing on his heart. He'd gotten quite fond of the place, especially after he had proven his use as a hunter and raised enough funds to buy it. For the second time in his life he would have to leave behind everything he owned just to help a person named 'Link.' Fran didn't know why exactly he was so devoted to the boy, only sensing that it was the right thing to do. Wryly, he wondered if the 'Cycle' included a hunter that would always appear every one hundred summers to sacrifice everything he held dear just to lend aid.

He remembered their meeting in the tavern just a few nights ago. Link had said that the old man had latched onto him because he had little else in his life to concern himself with. With a twinge, Fran realised that there was some truth to the words. He looked up, noticing that Link was looking at him, agitated.

"What about Mystral?" the youth said, his voice rising in time with his emotions. "I'm not just going to leave her here. And especially not with Servion."

"Lad," Fran said, pausing as he tried to choose the correct words. "If you go back, you'll put her in more danger. Servion will use her as bait, and may even hurt her to draw you out. The longer we stay away from the town, the less the Chief will think about you." He winced, feeling the coldness settle on his heart. Fran wasn't exactly sure that he believed his own words. "Once we have some sort of idea as to what's really going on, then we'll find a way to get to her. I promise." He reached forward to place his palm over Link's now-ungloved hand. The skin was cold.

Link pushed away from the table, his face tight and his expression hard. Fran almost felt another wave of pity for him, but he pushed it away. This was better for the boy. Now it would be easier for him to grasp his destiny with both hands. He'd been taught a lesson about life, trust and the nature of death the previous night that Fran's many lectures had failed to do. It was painful, and perhaps cruel, but such was the way of the world. Most people were blissfully unaware of the true consequences of their actions until it was thrust into their faces. Even then, some people chose to hide and flee. Fran hoped Link wouldn't do that.

"So the sooner we find this friend of yours, the sooner we can rescue Mystral?" Link asked in a hollow voice.

Fran eyed him carefully, watching as the licking flames of the fire reflected off one side of his face. "Aye, lad."

Link's hands curled into fists. "Then what are we waiting for?" he said. "Let's get ready."

...

Still, despite all that they had done to her and her family, she did not want to kill them. This was the only thought in Sheik's head as she threw her daggers at the approaching men. She'd done it before, of course, but it had left her sick and the world around her had taken on an unreal texture, as though she were a floating body. One of her blades struck a guard on the shoulder, the cocky young man not expecting her aim to be so good. He shrieked, and she felt a sigh of satisfaction in her heart.

"Watch yourselves," one of them growled, obviously the leader. "Don't underestimate her."

Sheik frowned. How had he known that she was female?

She had no time to pursue the thought. They advanced more cautiously now, waving their swords ahead of them, ready for her to let fly her knives. Their eyes were narrow, and they yelled ancient curses in an attempt to unnerve her. She smiled under her face wrappings, and crouched, twirling a dagger into her hand.

"There's three of you boys left," she said, her tone confident despite her thudding heart. "And I have more than enough knives. Let's see how many of you can get close enough to me without getting yourselves injured."

Making sure that they could hear the self-assured smile in her voice, she straightened her posture to convey her strength. She had learnt long ago never to display weakness in front of an enemy. An encounter with a would-be rapist had taught her that one night when she was very young; the memory of the sickening, lecherous glaze in his eyes always reminding her to keep her guard up. She'd left that particular meeting with a fresh boldness with which to tackle the world; in fact, it had to led to her dissatisfaction with the Elders and gave her the impetus to take things into her own hands. _He'd_ left the meeting with both his thin, weak arms broken and a dislocated jaw. She hadn't killed him though, but she did know that he'd never again attempted anything similar with anyone else.

She threw, and the spinning silver blade whispered through the air, before slicing one of the guards' tunics straight between his legs. He looked down at the near-miss and then up at Sheik, his face draining of colour. She arched an eyebrow. "Without getting _seriously_ injured, that is."

That made them hesitate. They looked at each other, shuffling their feet, the deadly earnestness in her words making them ponder. She spun another dagger into her hand, and one of the guards swallowed, taking an involuntary step backwards. She feinted, and the guard jerked backwards. Her tinkling laugh filled the air.

The leader snapped his head towards them. "Cowards," he spat. "You're letting yourself tremble because of a mere girl." He looked in disgust at the guard that she had almost emasculated. "It's a shame her blade missed. Because I don't think there's anything down there anyway."

The guard's face coloured in shame and, spurred on by the taunt, he charged, bellowing in fury. Sheik stood her ground, knowing that his anger had pushed him into making a mistake. She waited until his contorted face and blazing eyes filled her vision. He lunged forward with his blade, and she spun away easily, slashing at his arm with her dagger. A sharp kick to the back flung him into the wall violently, where his head bounced twice, plunging him into unconsciousness.

Sheik had no time to revel in her small victory as the other two took advantage of the distraction to launch an attack. She swung her blade out in a wide arc, but it was too small to have any effect. The leader cut through her hand with his sword, slicing the skin, and making her drop her weapon. As she reeled backwards in pain, the other guard kicked her knee, driving her to the ground. A punch followed, and she felt blood pour into her mouth. Her body burned with pain.

"Stop this," a voice called. Sheik thought she could recognise it, but the splintering ache in her hand and leg was making her head whirl. She looked down at the thin, red slit that ran from her fingers to her wrist, and was glad to see that the injury wasn't serious. Dust coated her tunic, sticking to the slime from the duct as the trio surrounded her, the tips of their swords aimed at her neck.

"As you wish," the commander said, stepping aside. "She will be taken alive."

The newcomer stepped into her line of sight, and Sheik looked up. As she saw him, her fury ignited, and one word, hot and loaded with hate, sprang its way into her mouth.

"Traitor!" she spat, as Kafei gazed down at her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Mystral sat up in the bed, trying to ignore the dull pain in one shoulder, and sipped on the soup. The spicy scent made her head swim and her brow broke into a sweat. According to Chestnut Leese, the young girl that Servion had assigned to tend to Mystral, the concoction was good for her and would speed her along on the road to recovery. After all, it was so effective that it had made Chestnut's birth pains virtually vanish when her baby girl had been born. Mystral doubted the truth of that, but didn't want to offend the girl whose fussy charm had grown on her. It surprised her that her baby-faced nurse was already married and had a child. She looked no older than fifteen.

As the sound of bustling townsfolk drifted in through her window, Mystral remembered the night where she had planned to pay a simple, friendly visit to her friends. It had ended with most of them dead or dying and she herself had taken an arrow in the shoulder. Even thinking about her injury made her wince. She swung her legs down from the bed and then walked to the small window set in one wall. Gripping the sill tightly, she leaned out, catching the rising smell of baked bread and hearing the hurried shouts of the men and women. The people were busy today.

Mystral and her friends had been diverted from their rendezvous by an urgent summons from the Chief. He had led them, and all the other women as well, to the old, abandoned storehouse on the edge of the enclave. It had once been used to store provisions for both the people and their animals, back when the enclave was too small for them to house their own goods. Once they had gotten there, Servion had mumbled something about a surprise festival and had brought out drinks for everyone to share. One or two of them, Mystral included, had been a little wary about the offerings, but the younger ones had been delighted, and they had all drunk their fill. She recalled now how the sweet, red liquid had made her head spin immediately, rendering her unable to either speak or to focus her gaze on anything.

And after that she remembered nothing.

Oh, they had told her, of course. When she had awoken, feverish, to find a splintering pain in her blood-encrusted arm, they had spilled out the whole story. Even now, as she recalled all the details, it still struck her as ridiculous. The King had finally turned against them, they said. He had sent out one of his squadrons, the secret ones that no one talked about and people debated whether they even existed, to strike at the Hylians' heart. He had wanted to numb them into inaction by slaughtering the innocent amongst them. And, worst of all, he had used a Hylian - Link – to execute his foul command, the young boy taking vicious pleasure in attempting to murder his own sister.

Nonsense.

Mystral shook her and let out a deep breath. Deak had assured her that Link had, indeed, been involved, but even then she refused to believe that he had consciously tried to kill her. There were too many questions left unanswered, too many facts left hidden, buried deep under the Chief's magical, twisting words. She had no one to probe for information either. Both Tom and Deak had been furious with Link's supposed actions and vowed to cut his neck when they caught him. Mystral shuddered at the ferocity in their words.

Fran was nowhere to be found either, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he had somehow found his way to be by Link's side. Her brother, of course, was long gone. Again she had to breathe in deeply to prevent herself from being drowned in the despair that lurked in her heart. Her vision blurred, but she blinked away the tears. A lifetime of disappointment had trained her to control her feelings somewhat.

Someone had wanted Link gone from their enclave. The realisation blazed in her mind. Someone had taken Link from her. All she had to do was find out who. And why.

She turned as the door to her room opened. Chestnut entered, her youthful face grinning. She had been named after the colour of her long hair that flowed down to her waist. Somehow the young girl had escaped the massacre. Mystral had always been meaning to ask her what she had been doing instead on that night, but never found the right time to speak. Everytime she tried to form words regarding that fateful event, she would end up choking, the grief rising from her soul and into her throat. She had lost many friends because of the assassins. True, she wasn't as close to them as she may have once thought, but it still saddened her. What was worse was the notion that Link may have been partly responsible.

"How are you?" the young girl asked, skipping into the room and deftly picking up the empty bowl. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you" Mystral answered truthfully. "Just a little tired."

Chestnut's eyes sparkled and her grin widened. "You see?" she asked. "Granma's recipe always works."

Though she was always in a bubbly mood, today there was an extra spring in Chestnut's movements. For some reason it unnerved Mystral.

"Chestnut," she asked carefully. "What's happening?"

The young girl frowned, her soft features creasing in genuine confusion. Mystral had to stop herself from reaching out and patting her on the shoulder, had to resist the urge to tell her that everything would be fine, so much did Chestnut resemble a little girl.

Mystral waved to the window. "The people are preparing for something."

"Oh!" Chestnut said, her face brightening immediately. "Don't you know? It's so exciting!"

"What is?" Mystral tried, and failed, to keep the dread from her voice.

"Oh, don't worry," the young girl said. "The Chief has decided that we're not going to be pushed around and bullied by the Calatians any longer." Her smile stayed on her face, as though they were a pair of gossiping maidens chatting about potential suitors. "He's preparing to attack the Castle and take over the city!"

Mystral's mouth dropped open as she blinked, stunned. She had to run the words in her head again just to make sure she hadn't misheard. "Is he mad?" she cried. "What do the others think about this? Deak and the Elders?"

"Oh, they all agree," Chestnut said, her voice still cheery. "Don't worry about a thing. We'll find that thug of a brother of yours. And then you'll be settled and happy."

Wincing over hearing Link mentioned in such a way, Mystral almost didn't catch the insinuation in the girl's last words. "Settled? Happy?" she asked, frowning. "What do you mean?"

Chestnut began fidgeting, her eyes darting left to right, as though she had been caught stealing or something of similar magnitude. She rushed to the door, almost tripping on her way there. "Nothing, nothing," she gasped. "Don't mind my words."

Mystral reached her in a few short strides. Experienced in dealing with those younger than her, especially when they were being un-cooperative, Mystral glared down at Chestnut, making sure to tighten the muscles in her own face so that the stern expression that she had perfected over the summers would appear naturally. It worked, and the younger girl cowered, swallowing, her eyes furiously pleading for her to be let free.

"What do you mean, Chestnut?" Mystral said slowly. More bad news was the last thing she wanted, but she knew from experience that false hope was always a disaster to entertain.

"It's supposed to be a surprise," she moaned. "You're not supposed to know."

"What surprise?"

Chestnut grit her teeth as tears sprang to her eyes. "Promise you won't tell anyone I told you?" she squeaked. "Promise you'll act surprised when the Chief tells you?"

Mystral sighed. "I promise," she said, softening her tone. "What is it that the Chief is going to tell me?"

The young girl straightened her back, grinning. She smoothed down her dress and cleared her throat, as though she were about to make an important announcement. "It's really exciting," she said, her unease forgotten. "And you do deserve it."

Mystral was beginning to lose her patience. "Deserve what?" she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. "Tell me."

Chestnut's smile grew wider. "Well," she said. "After the attack on the Castle is over, the Chief is going to ask you – well, order you I suppose, but that doesn't sound as nice - he's going to ask you to marry him!"

...

The rhythmic clatter of the horses' hooves on the cobbled pathway kept Impa awake as she rode beside the prison cart. She hadn't slept the previous night, pouring over more scrolls until she had finally pinpointed the location of the Hero of Time's grave in the city. Her tunic was still coated with dust and the odour of decayed parchments clung to her. It still surprised her at how eager she was to find the Triforce. She shared none of the King's ambitions, but whenever a challenge had been placed before her she had always risen to the occasion.

Once, Ganondorf had told her the story of the Travelling Archers of the South, and how they had never been beaten in a target challenge. Even a trivial thing as this had made her blood pump faster, and she had trained long and hard every night thereafter, waiting for the time to test her skills against them. Finally, they had come to New Hyrule one day to put on a show and throw out a challenge. Impa had steeled herself that morning, keeping her mind focused so that it would be as razor sharp as the tip of her arrow.

Going out in front of the mass of assembled Calatians she had accepted the archers' challenge and had proceeded to beat them one by one in every game that they devised. Satisfied, she had boasted of her success to Ganondorf. The King hadn't even remembered mentioning the group to her.

It didn't bother her though. She had improved her skills and tested them against the Travelling Archers. And she had overcome them. Even if no one else remembered the feat or even took the slightest notice of it, Impa would always remember.

And now she had found the exact location where the Hero of Time rested, along with his piece of the Triforce. Satisfaction surged in her heart, and she had to keep herself from sighing like a lovesick maiden. Another challenge met.

Montero was on his way there now, along with an Assassin League squadron.

"You're a Hylian."

Impa turned to the source of the voice, one of the prisoners in the cart beside her. It was more a cage on wheels, and it bumped up and down on the uneven surface, rattling the steel bars. There were two young women inside. One, her blonde hair framing the calm expression on her face, sat looking at the other, dressed in blue with one half of her face covered. The Princess and the one known as Sheik.

Montero had entrusted Impa with the task of delivering the duo to the Dragmires' prison complex in the south. The building was more securely protected than the dungeons of the castle. Both the King and Impa had been shocked at discovering that they had captured the Hylian Princess. Impa had felt her heart lurch at the revelation and Montero's eyes had gleamed. Now one part of the Cycle had been revealed. Not knowing what to do with either of them, the King had decided to keep them safely locked away while he pondered on the matter.

"Yes," Impa replied, turning to Sheik. "I am."

The young girl's eyes flashed with anger. "I can't seem to escape from all you traitors, can I?"

The Princess hissed at her; a warning for her to still her tongue, but Sheik ignored her.

Traitors. Impa mused over that. The one known as Kafei had come to them one night, after one of the squads had almost killed him and his young family. He was the only Harkinian amongst the three of them, and it obviously weighed heavily on his mind that he couldn't provide a safe and prosperous future for his wife and baby son. In exchange for his immediate family's safety he had agreed to reveal the location of the Harkinians' safehouse, though he had agonised in guilt for hours afterwards.

"I owe you no loyalty," Impa said.

"Why not?" Sheik asked. Resting her head against the bars, she hung her arms out through the gaps in, what appeared to Impa, to be an almost lazy gesture. "What do you owe the Dragmires?"

Impa turned away from her, trying not to be goaded by the young girl's impertinence. "That is none of your concern."

Sheik stared at her in frosty silence. At the beginning of their journey Impa had wanted to remove Sheik's face coverings, but after seeing the enthusiastic leers from the guards that were accompanying her, she had changed her mind. Though she did not care about the Harkinians, she still did not want to give the men the satisfaction of seeing either of them dishonoured.

Sheik glanced at the Princess, looking at her with eyes full of concern. Impa found the gesture puzzling. She had noticed that the young girl would rush to the Princess' side whenever the latter was in pain, whether emotionally or physically. It seemed the mark of a tender-hearted person. And yet, Impa knew that this same young woman had fought off a whole squad of dungeon guards, wounding two and making the others cower. Clearly she was a person of action and her kindness did not extend to her enemies. Impa smiled grimly at that. A lot of compassionate people were undone by the very characteristic that others so admired in them. Still, it was an intriguing paradox. She surprised herself by feeling a modicum of warmth in her heart for the girl.

Impa turned back to Sheik. "How is she?"

The young girl's head snapped back towards her, eyes flashing with undisguised suspicion. "Why do you care?" After a moment, she added, "What do you want with us anyway?" Finally her strength began to falter and her voice cracked. "Why did you kill the others?"

Again Impa was surprised to feel a twinge of sympathy in her heart. "We did what we had to," she said, suddenly feeling her own voice weaken. She twitched, angry with herself. "You, with your idiotic desire to reclaim the throne, are a danger to the stability of Greater Calatia. You wouldn't have stopped unless we cut you off at the source."

"It is _ours,_" Sheik said, almost sounding like a little girl in the process. "Our rights have to be restored. The throne belongs to the Harkinians."

"And Greater Calatia belongs to the Hylians," Impa snorted. "Stop living in the past. All that matters is the here and now."

"No," Sheik replied hotly. "All that matters is the future."

Impa sighed, nodding her head. Again her gaze was drawn to the Hylian Princess, sitting quietly and with as much dignity as possible. She felt something stir deep in her soul, prodding her devotion to the Dragmires. An old, almost ancient feeling whispered to her, telling her that it was the Princess that she should be tending to, not Montero. She pushed it away, wondering where the doubts were springing from. It was probably Sheik's earlier words playing with her mind.

A thought occurred to her. "What do you know of the Triforce?" she asked.

Both Sheik and the Princess looked back at her with blank faces.

Impa frowned. "The symbol of your family. The three triangles."

Something flashed in Sheik's eyes and, with a hesitant glance at the Princess, she clutched at her tunic. Impa pulled on the reins of her horse, immediately calling for the cart and the other guards to halt. She stared at the young girl. "What is it?"

Sheik began to back away slowly as the Princess looked at her with a confused frown. The other guards circled the prison cart, wondering at the delay. Impa slid off her horse and, with three long strides, reached the metal bars that penned the two Harkinians in.

"What is it?" she repeated, leaning in closely. "What do you know about the Triforce? Tell me!" Her hands curled around the cold, frost-coated bars.

In a blur, Sheik leapt, grabbing Impa's tunic and pulling her face into the metal until she could feel it leave an imprint in her flesh. One hand grabbed Impa's neck as her boots scrabbled in the dirt below, trying to find her footing. She hissed again, angry with herself for being tricked by such a basic deception.

The other guards reached for their swords, but their faces betrayed their hesitation.

"Let us go," Sheik barked. "Or I'll snap her neck."

Impa felt her face redden as she struggled for breath. She wanted to choke out an order to the guards to not let the girl win. It was too late though, as one of them cautiously approached the prison cart, the long, thin keys jangling in his hand. Impa tried to growl, but her voice came out as a gurgle as her saliva pooled in the corner of her mouth. She could hear the indecision in the guards' movements; could hear their boots nervously scuffing the frozen ground. What were they doing? Were they trained to be so incompetent? Slowly, the guard slid one key into the lock and, with a small click, let the door swing open.

Sheik did not waste the chance. Letting go of Impa, she clutched at the Princess' wrist and tugged her towards the exit. Impa sank to her knees, gasping, as her hands went instinctively around her throat, trying to massage the blood back into her veins. She growled as her anger exploded. Sheik and the Princess ran past her, but she was not going to let them escape.

Impa dived at the Princess' legs, bringing her to the ground. The girl tried desperately to hold on to her fellow Harkinian, but all she managed to do was tear a thin strip from her tunic. Sheik spun around, her eyes widening as the guards brought their weapons to bear. She paused; her body caught between two possibilities, half wanting to flee, half wanting to aid the Princess.

"Go!" the Princess screamed as the whirr of a crossbow filled the air.

Sheik ran as the first arrow spun towards her. It grazed her shoulder, making her whirl to one side. The second arrow caught her in the midsection and she fell, rolling down a slope and into a ditch.

Impa grunted, pulling both herself and the Princess to their feet.

"Watch her," she spat, pushing the Harkinian girl towards one of the guards. Impa snapped her fingers at the others, and they walked to the ditch as she wiped dirt from her mouth. The guard with the crossbow locked another arrow into place as they peered over the edge. Sheik's path down the slope had uprooted grass and saplings, leaving a trail of churned up soil. The girl lay unconscious in a stream at the bottom, her face scratched and her blood mixing with the water. The guard aimed, but Impa pushed his weapon away. "Leave her," she said, anger burning in her eyes and voice. "Let her suffer. No one will come to aid her."

Impa kicked at the pebbles by her feet, and watched with satisfaction as they tumbled down the slope, coming to rest on Sheik's bloodstained face.

...

Montero wished the man would stop staring at him. It galled him slightly, that this paid murderer was giving him such intense attention. He was the King and this man was his minion. Yes, in the make-believe world his father had created where he would 'train' to be an assassin, the man was his 'Commander', but in reality Kisho Coldsnare was nothing. No, less than nothing - a worthless little tool, the King's personal dagger, so that Montero would have no blood on his own hands.

The King watched as the diggers cracked the frozen ground with their pick-axes, sending shards of solidified earth flying into the air. This was it. This was the place where the Hero of Time lay buried. According to the scrolls, the Triforce of Courage, transferred now into a physical object, lay atop the Hero's decayed bones. He'd expected to find the grave in the Hylian Quarter itself, but was surprised to see that it was located in the Kokiri Quarter. The area itself was run down, and the people that lived here were poor. The Hero rested under an old, decrepit building; one broken dome letting light pour onto the crumbling walls with faded paint and rusted ornamentations. A shrine of some kind, no doubt. He hadn't been forgotten for a while then.

Montero looked up as Kisho cleared his throat.

"You wish to ask something?" the King asked calmly.

"You know what I want, Your Highness," Kisho replied. Montero imagined that the Commander had struggled to say those last two words. "I led one of my own into a trap. On _your_ word. And on _your_ promise that I would see proof that Link is this traitor that you say he is." Distaste was clear in his tone and on his face.

Montero crouched down, clearing away the debris as the diggers went deeper. "He's a Hylian," he replied. "They're all traitors."

He didn't have to look up to feel the heat of Kisho's continuous stare. "Wasn't it Servion that tipped you off?" the Commander asked. "Is he a traitor too?"

The King let out a breath as more and more dirt was thrown to the surface. "Servion knows his place," he said, tired of the conversation already. "Proof is hard to come by, and you of all people must understand that. Traitors don't leave physical trails."

He heard the Commander's boots crunch on the unearthed rock as he shifted position. "And yet you somehow still knew Link was not faithful," he said. "I just wish you would share this information with me. For the sake of my sanity."

Montero drew himself up to his full height once more. "Are you doubting my word?" he asked. "I am the King. When I give you an order, you _do _it." His lip curled in scorn. "Is that easy enough for you to understand?'

Kisho's cheek twitched and his eyes blazed, but he gave away nothing else regarding the nature of his inner thoughts. "Yes, I understand," he replied, no trace of a challenge in his voice. "But it's difficult for me to motivate my squadron when we are shadowed from the truth. What you ask…"

The King raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not asking you to kill him," he said. "I just want you to keep him away from the city for as long as possible."

"But _why?_"

Montero kept himself from lashing out. He had become far too used to people obeying his every whim without question that this pathetic man before him was starting to grate. Resting one hand on the Commander's shoulder, a gesture that Kisho noticed with narrowed eyes, the King smiled with as much enthusiasm and sincerity that he could muster. "You just keep him away. You don't have to even injure him. And I'll bring you your proof. You have my word as the King on that."

Again the muscles in Kisho's face twitched and, after a pause where Montero thought the Commander would press him further, he nodded reluctantly.

A hollow metallic noise rang out, and the King snapped his head towards the hole that his men had dug.

"We think we've found it," one of them called. He climbed out of the opening, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Montero swallowed, feeling his heart beat faster. "Bring it out," he commanded.

The worker nodded and motioned to his fellow diggers. Kisho watched with interest, a confused expression hanging on his face.

"What is it?" the Commander asked. "What are you trying to dig up?"

The King glanced at him momentarily. "A coffin," he said. He held up a hand before continuing, "Don't ask me 'why', Commander. This is my personal business."

Straining and grunting, the diggers pulled a medium-sized metallic capsule from the hole. It was unremarkable to look at. There were no special markings or decorations to indicate the immense status of the person that lay within. For a moment doubt nudged at Montero's heart, but the realisation that this place was surely a shrine of some sort coupled with Impa's intensive research melted the disquiet away.

They all crowded around him, their curiosity getting the better of them. None of them knew exactly why the King had summoned them to perform this task, and certainly none of them had any idea as to who lay inside. Montero doubted that they would even be affected even if he had told them the identity of the corpse. Nobody remembered the Hero of Time anymore.

The King felt his mouth dry as he opened the coffin. His imagination ran riot, teasing him with images of him holding the Triforce of Courage with swirling energy illuminating his body and filling him with strength. Already he had found him self awake at night after having dreams showing similar things. Like a child receiving his first gift from his parents, Montero felt his gut weaken in anticipation. Slowly he lifted the lid.

A cloud of dust mushroomed out, making them all cough and cover their eyes. When it cleared, Montero peered in. A mound of grey powder lay within, and a stale, overpowering smell floated into the air. He didn't want to think about the dust at all, seeing nothing even remotely human about it. A sword rested there too, alongside a strange metallic object with a chain and spike. Both items were rusted and filled with holes. He ignored them all, as he searched all around the coffin's interior.

There. A small triangular shaped imprint was clearly visible under the purple cloth that lined the bottom of the capsule. Flexing his fingers, Montero felt the chilly breeze brush against his face. It didn't stop the sweat that broke out all over his skin. He let out a breath, relieved that he had, at least, found what he was searching for.

With a fierce tug, he pulled the cloth free.

Underneath, where there was a clear triple-pointed hole for the Triforce of Courage to rest, was nothing but an empty space.

They kept away from the main tracks that connected New Hyrule to the other towns and villages of Greater Calatia. Traders and common folk used those winding paths, and both Link and Fran knew that they had to keep themselves out of sight. It wasn't that their egos were so swelled to believe that the King would have then entire populace on the lookout for them, no; it was more to do with the fact that a pair of Hylians would attract too much attention traversing roads full of Calatians.

Fran had led Link to a nearby village the previous night. There they had picked up a pair of horses and some boiled meat. The food was wrapped in leaves to keep the freshness. The villagers had all smiled and nodded at the old man, obviously sharing some sort of familiarity with him despite the differences in their races. The horses were an 'old favour' according to Fran. Link had merely grunted, not wanting to find out more. His mind was still elsewhere, and his heart was still heavy. He kept his words short, speaking less than usual. Fran didn't press him for conversation and Link was glad for that.

When dawn had broke, the pair of them rode up the slopes of one of the hills, making their way through the old, gnarled trees, stripped bare of leaves and standing so close together that their branches twisted and entwined around each other. The crooked limbs of the trees, coated with a sharp, icy edge, scratched at Link's face as he pushed his horse onwards. It reminded him of the stories of the Forest Ghouls, those with twisted and miserable faces, that Mystral would tell him as child as he lay by a crackling fire with sleep softly tugging at his eyes.

A little whisper of curiosity nudged Link's heart. Fran obviously knew the terrain well, and both his face and posture gave off a confident aura as he travelled. The elder man was obviously skilled and this, coupled with the fact that he owned an ancient bow, made Link wonder exactly what sort of man Fran had been in the past. His friend's history was hidden from him, and Link found his inquisitive side awakened. If anything, it would keep his mind off other matters.

"How far is it?" Link asked. "I mean to the place we're going. To this friend of yours." The words sounded strange to Link after riding in silence for so long.

"Not far," Fran answered cheerily. "Just beyond this hill." A smile crawled across his face. "It'll be good to see him again. He's a bit…eccentric. But still a good man." The old man turned to him. "Just be on your best behaviour."

Link nodded. He swallowed, trying to order his thoughts into coherent words. "Fran," he said, his voice soft. "Do you have any family?"

The other man cocked his head to one side, his eyes flashing. Link waited, wondering if the question had been too personal. Fran turned away, pushing a long, misshaped branch out of his path as he scanned the route ahead.

"Aye," he replied finally, making Link jump. He hadn't expected the old man to reply at all. "I did once."

Link kicked at his ride, waiting for his friend to continue. The horse slipped on a patch of ice and he had to pull hard on the reins to keep them both from falling. He'd explored the area around his hometown many times during his childhood, and yet he now realised how little he had committed to memory. Fran, on the other hand, rode with practised ease and with a clear path in mind. It was almost as though he had prepared for this journey well in advance. Link swallowed the sour taste from his mouth and shook his head slightly. Now that the memory of the Chief's betrayal was beginning to dim, he had to stop himself from entertaining paranoid notions.

Fran turned to look at him, his eyes peering out from under his thick hood. "I had a wife and daughter," he said. Link frowned at the strange tone in his friend's voice. "They're gone now."

Silence hung in the air between them as though daring Link to prod further. Fran turned away and the young man settled in his saddle with a sigh. The biting air carried the earthen scent of the forest over to him. Whenever he had played in the woods as a child, the place had been teeming with small animals and coated in green, both the tall, lush grass and the thick crops of leaves, filling the breeze with the aroma of spring. Now, in winter, the forest was empty, hollow and cold. Much like Link's heart. Again, he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the depressing thoughts that tried to hook into his soul and pull him down so that he could wallow in their thick embrace.

"Your daughter," Link asked, youthful curiosity outbidding the need for tactfulness. "Did she marry? I mean did you have any grandchildren?"

"No," Fran replied. His voice was stern and gave Link no doubt that the topic was now closed.

Link decided to change the subject to one that Fran had been so enthusiastic about in the past. He didn't really want to discuss it, but having finally broken the silence he found that he very much wanted to continue talking. The quiet was too overwhelming.

"Tell me about this Hero of Time again, Fran," he said as they rode over the top of the rise. He straightened his back and clutched onto the reins to make sure that they didn't descend at too quickly a pace. There were still too many trees up here and Link couldn't see what lay at the bottom of the hill. "Did you know him personally?"

The old man glanced at him, a wry smile on his face and a small chuckle escaping from his lips. Link smiled back. Fran understood perfectly. He knew that Link wasn't interested in the subject and was only trying to make small talk. Thankfully, his friend didn't even attempt to tease him.

"Yes, I knew him," he replied. "Though not too well." He pressed his lips together as he thought. "In fact, everyone knew him in a way. They all had their own personal image of him."

"He was that well known?"

"Aye." Fran jerked his ride to one side to avoid a large boulder, broken in two and with one side sunk into the ground, its sharp edges staring into the air as though it were grinning. The horses picked up their pace as they trotted downhill. "He saved the people many times."

Link leaned forward in his saddle and scratched his ride behind her head. She flicked her ears happily. "Then why haven't I heard of him?" He kept his voice soft so that his words would not be misinterpreted as a challenge. "If he's so important."

Fran sighed. "It was a long time ago, lad. Before you were born." He kept his eyes ahead as he shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me even if told you."

Link's forehead creased as he mused over the puzzle. "Why do you think I'm connected to him?"

The elder man scratched at his face, just under his eye. He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and then opened it once more. His words, when they came, were slow and measured. "There's a story…a legend. Somehow, I don't know why, something happens every one hundred summers that shakes the foundation of our world." He glanced over at Link to see if the young man was still paying attention. "An evil…force appears. And two arise to stop him. A princess. And a hero."

Again, he looked at Link's face, no doubt searching for the scorn he was certain would show there. Link, however, decided to humour him.

"A princess?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Fran turned back towards the town, his expression troubled. He couldn't see the Castle from here, but somehow Link thought that his friend's distant look was focused on that place. "Yes," the old man said curtly. "A princess."

Before Link could say anything else, he found that they had reached the foot of the hill. He blinked as the trees parted to reveal a wide lake directly ahead, mist rolling off the top of the water in curling, slow-moving tendrils. It was so thick that Link had to catch himself from reaching out and trying to touch it. It was a strange sight, especially considering the climate. Idly, he pondered what other wonders there were to see in the world.

Fran climbed off his horse and tethered it to a tree. He motioned to Link to do the same. The young man peered ahead, noting a strange glow within the murky gloom at the lake's centre. Careful not to slip in the mud on the lake's shore, Link followed Fran as he walked along the edge. Finally, he spotted it. A small boat, made from wood and not looking all that secure, bobbing up and down as water peacefully sloshed at its hull.

"I take it we're headed to the centre," Link said.

"Aye," Fran replied, cutting the rope that held the boat to a small stump lakeside. "That's where Sahasrahla lives."

"You have some strange friends," the young man said as he climbed into the boat. It rocked slightly as he sat down.

"Steady there, lad," Fran said sternly, gripping the sides of the boat. "Aye, I do have strange friends," he added with a smile. "Sahasrahla will tell you more. Has a lot of knowledge that one."

"I hope so," Link mumbled as he looked out across the watery expanse. He couldn't see much, but could hear the waves lap up against the small vessel. Fran took ahold of the oars and set the boat off. When Link offered to share in the effort the old man merely waved him away. The mist did not part, but Link's eyes were still drawn to the glow in the centre. Like a burning flame enclosed in a crystal lantern he could not tear his sight from it. Above them strange birds circled the waters, croaking in strange voices as their withered, leathery wings beat against the air.

"Why would anyone live in a place like this?" the assassin asked.

The boat jerked to one side, cutting off any reply from Fran. The old man stopped rowing as their eyes met. A thick silence fell, punctured only by the sound of their breathing and the slow thudding of their hearts.

Something bumped against the little boat.

Link reached out with one hand to steady himself, and then drew his crossbow with the other hand. Setting the oars down, Fran untied his bow from his back. He flicked at the string, testing its strength. It vibrated with a hum and Fran, feeling satisfied, readied an arrow, stroking the feathers on its tail as he lifted the bow into an attack stance.

The water bubbled and the boat rocked from side to side. Panicked, Link glanced over at his friend and was surprised to see Fran's face split into a grin.

"Looks like Sahasrahla is going to play a game with us," the old man said.

Before Link could respond, the surface of the lake split and the slick, grey Sea Serpent, far removed from its usual haunting ground, shot into the air, water dripping from its fins and smooth skin. Yellow eyes and needle like teeth regarded the two Hylians with mild interest. With lightening like fluidity, it dived towards them with a scream that made the birds scatter.

"Fall back!" Fran cried, pushing down with his weight on one side of the boat. Realisation hitting him, Link quickly did the same and the side of the boat plunged into the lake, narrowly dodging the attack and drenching the two friends with icy, cold water. As soon as the vessel righted itself, Link began firing, the explosive whistle of his arrows accompanied by the familiar orange flash. The arrows bounced harmlessly off the Serpent's skin and Link snapped his head to and fro, frantically looking for an escape route.

Silence fell again, and all was still, the mist rolling into their eyes. Link tried to peer through the gloom, but he could see nothing except the glow at the lake's centre. He couldn't even see the shore anymore. He kept his hand gripped tightly around his crossbow. Without even thinking, his training leapt into his mind. How to find a target in low visibility. How to attack a powerful foe. He wished he had more tools than his weapon. A rope would be useful, or even a spear of some kind.

Like a burning iron rod through butter, the Serpent plunged through the haze, revealing itself once more. Link screamed and fell back, the boat rocking violently from his movements.

The Serpent turned and plummeted towards the boat again, but this time Fran pushed against the water with one oar, making the boat spin with dizzying speed.

"Your _friend_ sent this?" Link gasped as he unsuccessfully tried to fire off some more arrows. He bit down on his lip, cursing the amateur attacks he was using. Rolling to one side to get a clearer shot, Link aimed at the creature's sallow eyes, hoping that that would be a weak point. The Serpent was smart though, and ducked and weaved as the arrows tried to land home. A strange creature indeed.

"Like you said," Fran said, releasing an arrow with practised ease, "I have strange friends." The beauty of the manoeuvre almost made Link forget about their situation. The arrow had no effect, but seeing the graceful weapon in action made him gasp.

Fran was still grinning as he cocked his head towards the young assassin. "Can you swim, lad?"

"What?" Link asked, not able to concentrate as the Serpent rose again.

"I said 'can you swim?'"

"Yes," Link replied, his voice betraying his impatience. "Of course I can. What kind of assassin would I be if I couldn't?" He paused as Fran's words finally sunk in. "Are you suggesting we-?"

With a sliver of movement the Serpent dived, colliding into them with a crack, and reducing their boat to a thousand splinters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Cold, clammy mud seeped through her tunic, coating her in slime. She was dimly aware that her eyes were open, and the sun appeared in her vision as a burning, crystal orb; fractured as though someone had driven a stake through its heart. Sometimes a puffy cloud would drift lazily in the sun's path, smudging its light across the sky. Sheik could feel its warmth stroke her face softly, like a mother to her child. She realised, though, that she felt little else.

She tried something simple; flexing a muscle or wiggling her toes, but all she could sense was the distant, heavy weight of her body, a slab of lead sinking slowly into the ground. Her head swam and she heard her own breath, short, sharp and ragged. The breeze tickled her skin and lulled her towards the darkness, whispering sweet promises of release. Her eyes closed instinctively, and she felt the weighty heat of her lids like a beast carrying a burning burden.

Her lips couldn't move so her heart whispered a prayer to the One, Unseen and immediately she felt her soul strengthen, preparing her for what was to come.

Death.

Oddly, she felt no panic, no fear. Her mind idly slipped back to her childhood, the voice of her teachers coming back to her now, clear and vibrant, though at the time her mind had been numb with boredom and she had paid them scant attention. She remembered the stories, the heroic tales of those at the end of their lives and the noble resignation they felt towards their fate. It comforted her.

Oblivion was coming to her, whispering at the edge of her consciousness. It taunted her with honey coated pledges of freedom; the hope that her afflictions would all end if she would just submit to the blackness. It was so tempting. She had failed - the Princess, her family, everyone. They were just memories now, dying away like last embers of a fire that had once burned so brightly. Other memories came; the horrific sight of her dead relatives, Kafei's face, grinning and treacherous, and each one stung her heart like a hot spike.

So tempting to let go. So tempting to flee.

No more running. No more living on the edge, scrapping for food and clothes. No more lies, no more pain. The fiery spark that had drove her on for all these summers had deserted her.

Death. She welcomed it.

The world splintered like a broken mirror, the air contracted and all colour drained from her vision. She felt the presence now, stronger and more vibrant. It was hovering close to her, seemingly fading in and out of reality. Just thinking about it made her nauseous. When had this madness gripped her mind? She had seen the insane wandering about the city, their faces in a stupor and their eyes fixed on something distant. And yet, they had always seemed content as though they had come to the end of a long search, and had found bliss at the end. The people whispered that the insane were in the presence of the Divine itself, and would always keep a respectful, if fearful, distance.

The voices that came to Sheik, though, were far from comforting and far from being Divine. Another thing that Death would save her from.

_"You are not going to die, my little one." _ The words sounded as though they came from a loving father, but the tone itself was empty of affection, and seemed tinged with ice. "_We have much to accomplish, you and I."_

Dread filled the emptiness in her soul. Whatever it was this thing wanted, she knew it would not be benevolent.

_"Oh, come now."_ She could not pinpoint the voice's location; sometimes it would appear to be from her left, but then, instantly, it would shift to her right. Now it seemed it was by her face, whispering into her ear, like a young, freshly married man to his wife. The intimacy scared her. "_So hasty to judge me. Deku Seedlings in a pod, that's what we both are. The people have been unjust to both of us. Oppressed us. Hurt us. But here, I offer you a chance that Death will never give you." _There was a pause. Sheik felt the temperature drop, and could even sense the slyness that was creeping into the voice. "_I offer you revenge."_

Dimly, Sheik was aware of the creak of a cart coming to a halt somewhere far above of her. Urgent shouts followed, but she found she couldn't focus on them. Somewhere, all around her, within her, she heard the voice chuckle. She felt it sliver across her, and her mind screamed with pain as it tried to work out the contradiction - a disembodied voice should not be able to touch her. The laughter grew, and she felt herself be swallowed, like the embrace of a loved one in her childhood dreams; dreams and hopes that she had buried deep down after she had tried to dismiss them as immature fantasies that had no bearing on reality. There was, however, no gentleness in this one's touch.

The presence was crushing now, suffocating. She tried to struggle, but her body still betrayed her, refusing to move. Finally, she felt her mouth loosen, as though she had just burst from a watery grave and was gasping for air. There were people all around her, lifting her up gently and speaking in concerned tones. She paid them no heed.

Sheik addressed the voice. "Who _are_ you?" she whispered.

The voice responded, smug and strong. "_I am _you."

...

Tired and soaking wet, Link pulled himself onto the shore of the little island. His tunic clung to him, dark and heavy, while his crossbow, hanging from his belt, scraped over rocks and gouged a path in the sand. Still on his knees, Link sunk his gloved hands into the earth, flexing his fingers as he tried to still his anger. It didn't help that Fran, also dragging himself onto land, was laughing uncontrollably, in-between coughs and splutters.

Link turned slowly towards the old man, fixing him with a hot stare. This didn't seem to affect his old friend, though. Fran fell on his back, spread-eagled, and laughed louder, tears now leaving trails in the mud caked on his face.

The young assassin hissed as he lifted his hands from the ground, sand spilling between his fingers. Hatred and anger burned his heart once more. He was sick of the foolishness. He was sick of the games, the lies. Link came to the sudden conclusion that he now despised every living thing in the world. They kept on pushing him, these selfish, pathetic people; caring only about their worthless, selfish needs and wants, while pushing people like him and his sister into the dirt beneath their feet, crushed and forgotten. They tried to snap him, well now he was going to snap them back. All of them.

Link stood, looking down at Fran with thinly disguised contempt. He wanted to say something, anything, but he bit back the hot words, knowing they would be useless. Instead, his fingers curled instinctively around his crossbow and he flicked the switch, letting the familiar hum comfort him. The knowledge that he held in his hands the ability to strike back at anyone that would be an obstacle in his path uplifted his soul. He let out a breath, not realising how tense he felt.

"Now, now, lad," Fran said, pulling himself upright. "No need to get angry now. Sahasrahla was only having a little fun."

The assassin merely grunted as he studied the small hut in front of him. It was a tiny thing, crudely made from mud and leaves. There couldn't be room inside for anything more than bedding and a cooking pot. A strong light shone from within, bathing both the hut and the island with a watery glow.

"My sister is out there somewhere," Link said quietly, feeling the throb of his anger ease somewhat. "I need to get her back."

He flicked a glance over at the old man, noting the look of concern in his wide, milky eyes. Fran held his gaze for a moment, the eerie glow reflected in his pupils like a dancing fire. "Right, lad," he said. "Forgive my flippancy."

Link twitched, feeling awkward that someone his elder should be asking him from forgiveness. The feeling melted instantly, the cold weight of righteous anger flaming his heart once more. He sighed, giving Fran a small nod. He ached to be alone, to be able to gather his thoughts. But for now, he needed this old man. Even if he didn't really trust him.

A flicker of movement ahead, and Link had his weapon ready. The door to the hut opened slowly and Link caught a faint spicy scent from within. He shifted his feet, snapping twigs as he tried to find a surer footing, and peered inside. A shape appeared, hunchbacked and wiry. It shuffled out, revealing an old, balding man in a tattered cloak that may once have been ruby red, but was now dull from summers of wear and tear. Link's fingers relaxed a little around his crossbow. Sahasrahla was not what he'd expected.

Fran grinned. "You old dog! You almost got us killed with that Sea Serpent of yours."

The shorter man grimaced. "Marcaster!" he spat. "I should have known you would come to haunt me again one day." He chewed on the inside of his cheek a moment before spitting. "Shame the Serpent didn't finish you off. From the look on your face I can see that this is no social call." His gaze turned to Link, looking him up and down with small, narrowed eyes, glittering like crystals. "Marcaster, why is he pointing a weapon at me?"

"Don't mind _Link_ here," the old man said. "He's a just a little jittery. You can't really blame the lad." He paused, licking his lips. "You remember _Link, _right? The one we discussed?"

Sahasrahla snorted. "Marcaster, you're about as subtle as a rolling Goron." He flicked his eyes towards Link again. "Tell him to stop pointing that thing at me."

Link sniffed, the smell of seaweed and the salty tang of the lake flooding his senses. Dimly, he wondered why the scents of the sea were present in a lake like this. He pushed the thoughts away, growling in anger. He was getting a little tired of being referred to as though he was not even present. "Ask me yourself, old man."

"Behold! It speaks!" Sahasrahla cried, not looking in the least perturbed. "And so well-mannered too."

"He calls me 'old man' too," Fran mumbled under his breath.

"But of course!" the shorter man said, still holding Link's gaze. "To someone like him the world is divided into two categories. The young and the useful. And the old and the useless!" Sahasrahla paused, one corner of his mouth curling. For a moment there was silence, save for the quiet lapping of the lake up against the shore. "How quaint. How arrogant."

Link's eyes narrowed. "You don't know me," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "You can't judge me."

"On the contrary!" Sahasrahla cried. Link was beginning to tire of the other man's exaggerations in his voice. "I know you better than you know yourself. No, no...the question you should be asking is...do _you_ know _you_?"

The youngster pushed the query away, weary of the conversation. "Sagely advice from an old man that tried to kill us. Where did you come from?" He turned to Fran. "Both of you. Straight out from a bedtime story my sister would've told me as a child. Unlike me, though, you both still haven't grown up."

"Such insolence! Sahasrahla spat.

"Link, enough," Fran growled. "Put the crossbow down. This isn't helping Mystral. At least hear my friend out."

Link swallowed, trying to remove the metallic taste from his mouth. For an instant he kept his aim on the shorter man, just to spite him. Then, with a sigh, he let his arm drop. "Lead on."

Sahasrahla shuffled aside, giving them access. As Link walked past, defiantly keeping his gaze straight so as not to look at the shorter man, Sahasrahla muttered, "You need to show a little gratitude." His voice was surprisingly soft. "Fran has done a lot for you. Given up a lot. Remember that, youngster."

The young assassin shot him an unpleasant look and felt the retort rise to his lips. It didn't materialise though, as the truth of the little man's words hit home. Always, like a shadow, Fran had been there for the past few summers in his life, advising, guiding, _helping._ Though Link had resented his presence, he knew that now that Fran had actively aided in his escape from the city, the old man would never be able to go back to his home. And still Link wasn't clear why the man was doing it.

A sudden wave of affection filled the young man's heart as his eyes came to rest on Fran. He bit it back quickly. He'd never asked for the old man to become a surrogate father to him. It was dangerous to feel like this. Uncertainty and disquieting doubt clawed at the emotion. How could Link ever really trust anyone again?

Gritting his teeth, he pushed both his thoughts and feelings away. Stupid. Childish. All that mattered was Mystral. Everybody else was irrelevant.

The sudden heat of the hut tingled Link's wet skin. At the back of his mind he heard the two older men start up a conversation, enquiring about each other's health and such small talk. The youngster let the voices fade from his mind and found his eyes drawn to the fire in the centre of the dwelling. It certainly wasn't as bright as it appeared from the outside, but it did burn soundlessly, an ethereal blue flame that seemed to shimmer rhythmically.

"I said, are you listening, Link?"

The assassin's head snapped up at the sound of Fran's voice and he found the two friends gazing at him. "What?" he blurted out.

Sahasrahla sighed. "Are you sure you didn't make a mistake, Marcaster?" he said. "There must be plenty other lads named 'Link' out there."

"I doubt it," Fran mumbled.

Link felt his face burn, but he tried to push the embarrassment away. It was galling to him that they still referred to him as some young idiot. He was an assassin. He was better than that. It was the two of them that were the idiots. He'd thought that Fran might have been able to help him, but the old man had only led him to a madman.

"We need to know why Servion did what he did to Link," Fran continued, addressing Sahasrahla.

"You know," the shorter man said, banging some pots on a crudely made stove in one corner. "Link here thinks I'm a fool. So why should I tell him anything?"

Link blinked. Fran frowned.

"He doesn't think you're a fool," the old man said.

"Oh, yes he does," Sahasrahla said, turning back to the both of them. "Ask him."

Fran sighed. "Link, do you think Sahasrahla is a fool?"

Link looked at him for a moment, pondering over his words carefully. He couldn't resist. He wanted to spite the older man, even though he knew it was somewhat childish. "I think he's a complete and utter fool."

Sahasrahla folded his arms and looked at Fran with a self-satisfied smirk. "See?"

Link's mouth curled and he folded his arms, too. "See?"

Fran glared at the both of them. "Is there any help you can give us, old friend?" he said softly.

Sahasrahla poured some sort of steaming brown concoction into three bowls. "The Cycle has already begun," he said, handing each one a drink. "They have the Princess and are taking her to a prison complex. You two have to free her and bring her to me."

Fran blinked. "And...?"

"That's all. For now. Just bring her here."

Link took a sip from the bowl. The liquid was sweet and somewhat thick, but it warmed his body. "What has the Princess got to do with Mystral?"

Sahasrahla fixed him with a stare. "You cannot rush in and rescue your sister at the moment. First find the Princess."

"No," Link said, feeling his anger rise. "I want explanations. I want to know why Servion did this to me." He paused, trying to control his breathing. "I want my sister back. All you are doing is sending me after some girl that I don't care about and has nothing to do with me."

"Me, me, me," Sahasrahla spat. "You might have noticed that there are other people in this world apart from you. People more important than you and your sister."

Link's cheek twitched. "No one is more important than Mystral."

The shorter man snorted. "Isn't it time you let go of her skirts and started acting like a man?"

The assassin hissed and his fingers curled into a fist. Fran held up a hand for calm.

"I have your explanations for you, _boy,_" Sahasrahla said. "But first you have to do this little task for me."

"Little task?" Link cried. "Break out a Princess from a prison complex?" He looked from one man to another. "You're _both_ fools."

"The 'how's are with you," the little man continued. "The 'why's are with me. We need to work together."

"You could tell us what you know right now."

"I could," Sahasrahla said icily. "But I'm not going to."

Link flexed his fingers making his gloves creak and crackle. "I could make you tell me."

"You could," the other man continued nonchalantly. "But you won't."

"How do you know that?"

"How did I know you thought I was a fool? Hmm?"

Link felt his forehead crease as he pondered over the question. Something else occurred to him just then. "Why do the both of you speak my name as though it was something important?" he said. "It's not this 'Hero' nonsense is it?"

"No," the little man said bluntly. "No nonsense. But if you want your answers, you'll bring me the Princess." He stared straight at Link, his eyes seemingly burning through the young man's face. "You're no Hero," he whispered. "Assassin." He spat the word. "There's a girl held captive I want back. And there's a girl held captive you want back. You help me get my girl. I'll help you get yours." A pause, enough time for a pair of thudding heartbeats. "Deal?"

Once again, Link looked from one man to another. He knew he couldn't free Mystral on his own. And yet, he knew that what these two friends were offering him could be nothing more than false hope. But what choice did he have? He couldn't pass up on any opportunity, no matter how slim.

"So," Link said finally. "Which prison complex is she in?"

...

Days passed as they travelled onwards, huddled in their cloaks with their breath escaping in small, puffy clouds. Occasionally, they stopped at watering holes, breaking the ice with their fists so that the horses could drink while they themselves took refuge in the small, disused stone huts, eating their supplies without conversation. Silence had become the norm between them once more and that suited Link just fine.

He still didn't know how they were planning to free the Princess. The only thing that Fran had told him was that they were travelling to yet another village to resupply once more before heading out towards the prison complex. The whole thing seemed absurd, and yet the sheer impossibility of what they were going to do sent a thrill through Link's body. He was aching to do something, _anything_, no matter how insane. Most of all he wanted to release his anger, make others feel the same hurt that churned in his heart.

Link uncorked his water pouch and took a quick swig, tiny flecks of ice coating his throat and chilling his mouth, before looking over towards Fran. "Your bow," he said. "Where did you get it from?"

The older man turned towards him slowly. "I made it myself." He paused to remove the weapon from his back and rest it on the saddle. Slowly stroking the smooth contours of the wood, he continued, "Takes skill to use one of these. It's an art in itself."

"It's beautiful," Link said truthfully. "But how did you learn how to make one? And how did you learn how to _use _one?"

Fran turned away. "I know many things, lad."

The young man rolled his eyes skyward while letting out an exasperated breath. "Another mystery that I'm too young and stupid to learn about?"

The old man chuckled and pulled on his reins, bringing his ride to a halt. Link did likewise, watching the older man with a curiosity filled gaze. Fran smiled, holding the bow out towards him. Link looked at it cautiously, his breath catching in his throat at the sheer marvel of the weapon. Gingerly, his fingers clasped around the shiny, varnished wood and he slowly brought the bow towards him.

"Try it," Fran said, throwing an arrow. Link caught it and lifted it to the string. The bow was larger than what he was used to and awkward for him to handle. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest as he slid his fingers up and down the string, revelling in the sensation. Link raised the bow, aiming it at a nearby tree. He narrowed his eyes, letting everything but the tree melt away from his vision. Slowly, he pulled the string back until it stroked his lips.

Link let the arrow free and watched its path as it curved through the air, steel tip spinning and tail feathers fluttering. He was disappointed to see it clatter through the branches before falling limply to the ground.

Fran cocked an eyebrow. "Not bad."

The assassin threw him a sour look as he handed the bow back. "I missed."

"Practice, lad," the older man replied. "I'm sure you know the virtue of that."

Link nodded slowly. "Yes."

Fran's mouth curled into a warm smile as he looked at Link from under his hood. "For a moment, you looked a little like the Hero of Time."

The assassin opened his mouth to reply, but was caught off by the sound of rustling branches. Both men snapped their eyes forwards, Fran raising his bow, Link's hand dropping to his weapon.

A man and a woman - both Calatians - appeared from behind the trees, armour bristling and eyes glinting with malice. A spiked ball and chain dangled from the woman's hand. Two swords hung from the man's belt, razor thin steel glinting from inside their sheathes. More foils than swords, really.

"He is no..." the man began.

"...Hero," the woman finished.

From the corner of his eye, Link saw Fran's cheek muscles clench. The youngster, though, was feeling something completely different. His breath grew shorter as his heart thudded loudly in his chest. Link stroked the crossbow hanging from his belt as he nursed the anger in his soul, removing the bandages that had let it slumber relatively peacefully and forcing it through his body. Now, _this. This_ he could handle. Without even thinking about it, the man's face faded in his mind's eye. It was replaced by Servion's.

"We don't want any trouble, strangers," Fran said.

"Oh yes, we _do_," Link said, slipping to the ground and letting the ice crunch under his boots.

"Link?" Fran said, his face creasing with confusion. "What are you doing?"

"Stay out of this, old man," Link replied, his fingers already flexing. "I need this."

"This isn't the way, lad," Fran called, though the tone in his voice indicated that he wasn't going to interfere. The old man had probably decided that Link should work this out on his own. _Good. _Now, at last, he could set free everything that was bubbling within.

"We know you…" the woman said.

"...assassin, runaway," the man continued. "We waited for you. Knew you would come down this path, we did. We will kill you and take the bounty on your head. You are wanted throughout the land. Killer of kinsmen..."

"...kins_women."_

"That's right," Link said, walking towards them slowly. "I'm a murderer."

The woman raised an eyebrow in disgust. "You admit it then? You committed these..."

"...dishonourable acts?" the man finished, drawing both swords with a metallic slice.

"I did what I was told to do," Link said. His voice sounded flat in his own ears, though it was drowned out by the sound of his thumping heart. A strange sense of elation washed through him, making his confidence grow. The icy breeze felt almost brittle against his skin.

"You are..." said the woman, swinging the chain above her head so that the spiked sphere chopped the air.

"...insane or sick. Or both," the man said.

Link's eyes narrowed as his mouth curled into a grin. The sense of freedom he felt was exhilarating. "I prefer 'insane'." He paused, sniffing. He realised he meant what he said. "If that's fine with the two of you." He relaxed, letting the giddiness sway him. "'Sick' is a tad harsh, I'm sure you'll -"

"Enough!" the man bellowed, throwing a foil towards Link. The blade whirled through the air, shimmering in the sunlight like liquid metal. In one fluid moment the young assassin snatched it from its flight path and ran a finger up and down the blade.

"Nice," Link said, before letting his gaze return to the two strangers. "Thank you." He licked his lips. "This is to make it a fair fight, then?"

"Yes," the man said. "There is no honour..."

"...in slaying one with no sword."

"Ah," Link said sagely, testing the sword with a few swipes. It cut through the air, scattering particles of dust that were floating lazily. "Your concept of honour is as skewed as your speech," he continued, letting his eyes flick from one to the other. "Since there is two of you and one of me. Now, correct me I'm wrong, but -"

"Your friend..." the woman said impatiently.

"...can assist."

"No," Link said, looking over his shoulder. Fran stood watching him, the expression on his face as cold as the frost on the ground. Link's sense of elation continued to rise, mixed as it was with confidence and anger. It was simply intoxicating. He wondered how much longer he could have held the hurt in without drawing on it as he was now. He felt like a new person. "He has magic powers, see," he continued, waggling his fingers. "He'll defeat you by simply frowning at you."

The two strangers glanced at each other.

"I warn you," Link said. "You don't want to cross him. Frightening things happen. People being turned into cuccos and such like." He stepped forward, closing the gap to within striking range. His voice dropped to a whisper. "And if you think what I do to kinswomen is horrific, you should see what I do to cuccos. Bite their heads straight off." Link leaned forward. "Cluck. Cluck. Cluck."

"Are you..." the woman began.

"...mocking us?" the man ended.

_Let your heart grow cold._

"No," Link replied falling back onto his training with a sword and stepping into an attack stance. "I'm _killing_ you."

The young man's first strike _zinged_ through the air, the light steel blade trembling slightly from the force. The other man slid back quickly, planted his feet and lunged forward. Link darted backwards, the foil's light weight aiding in making his movements lightening quick. Another attack came and Link jumped back. Another attack, this time a swing, and Link ducked, his heart soaring. His opponent went low, and Link leapt, his knees reaching his chin as he felt the blade slice the wind beneath. As he landed yet another strike came, slicing through his tunic.

Link looked down at the thin slit in his clothes and the angry red welt underneath. He grinned. "You're good," he said. "Now it's my turn."

He swung the blade in a downward arc over his head and it cracked into the other man's foil, the blades shimmering and letting a metallic echo fill the clearing. Link knew he had to be careful. The stranger was older, stronger and more experienced. But it was clear who was faster.

Link spun, disengaging the blades, and bringing his foil around towards the man's arm. The stranger deflected the blow, but Link used the momentum to swing the foil in his hand and bring it down tearing through the air once more. Another parry, and Link swung again. Strike. Parry. Strike. Parry. Link's grin grew wider, the sound of metal on metal fuelling his bloodlust. Hatred coursed through his veins and he could almost taste their blood; could almost hear the splintering of bones, the tearing of skin. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman move around behind him. He noted the manoeuvre in his mind, but kept his attention on the man.

The stranger swung again, pushing Link back towards one of the trees. The man thrust his foil forwards, but Link stepped up on to a rock and leapt, dodging the blow. He landed and leapt again, swinging his blade down towards attacker. The bigger man ducked and threw a punch, but Link twirled away, curling his free hand into a fist. With a roar, he smashed it into the side of the man's head. The stranger stepped back, stunned, and Link attacked with a thrust of his own. The man spun away on his heel. Link raised an eyebrow at that. Clever. His opponent still had his wits about him.

Link sensed the shift in the air behind him. He ducked as the woman's spiked sphere ripped through the air where his head had just been. At the exact same time, the man brought his sword down in a smooth arc. Both spiked ball and foil collided, making the pair look up at each in shock. Link dug his elbow into the ice solid ground, sending splinters of pain up his arm. He swung his legs around, knocking the man off his feet.

The woman screamed, bringing her weapon down towards where Link lay. The youngster rolled out of the way and the sphere hit the ground with a dull thud. Another swing came, the chain tinkling with the force, and another roll. Swing. Roll. Thud. Swing. Roll. Thud. Link wanted to laugh, so much was the roar of the battle filling his soul like a mystic that had found bliss in the Divine. He felt free, alive. The pain had vanished temporarily from his heart, but that did not mean he was not willing to make others feel it, oh no.

Link sprang to his feet, his back to an old, gnarled tree with a thick, bloated trunk. He tensed his legs as he watched the woman approach. They were fools if they thought they could best a trained assassin. The man was up again and the pair of them swung in with attacks once more.

The young assassin leapt up and forwards, grabbed onto a broad branch that shook under his weight, and swung over their heads, their weapons slicing the trunk harmlessly and filling the air with a cloud of splinters. Link let and go and landed behind them. He twirled around and cracked his fist into the back of their heads. They fell, letting their weapons clatter to the ground.

Link spun his foil in his hand and then lifted it into position. A cool, quick swipe and their heads would be off. He looked down at them and, once again, the man's face melted into the image of Servion's. Link's heart lurched and he tasted the salty taste of blood in his mouth. The taste of victory. The taste of revenge.

Once more the doubt started to creep in, threading its way through his soul. The sensation that what he was doing was wrong made his hands tremble, but he hissed, gritting his teeth and pushed it down, deep down. This time he would not be denied his kill. He lifted the foil and the blade flashed in the sunlight.

"Yes, " he whispered between short breaths. "I _am _mocking you."

"That's enough, Link." Fran's voice broke the young man's concentration. He felt the elder man's hand come to rest on his shoulder. "There's nothing left to prove here."

Link snapped his head towards the old man. "They would have killed us," he spat. "What ridiculous code of ethics do you follow that would deny me my vengeance?"

"Listen to yourself, lad," Fran said softly. His eyes were wide and seemed to shine with trepidation. Link hated him for it. "This is madness."

"Madness," he gasped. "Madness is more preferable than living in a world such as this. A world where _I_ am blamed for the murder of my own sister. The sister that fed, clothed and raised me from her own sweat when no one else would aid her." He heard his own voice crack and it filled him with disgust. " The sister that meant the world to me." Link sensed the pair shift beneath him, but he ignored him, the raw emotions blinding his mind. "If that is sanity, then I choose madness freely."

Fran gazed at him, an odd look of concentration engraved on his elderly face. "Nevertheless," he said softly. He gripped Link's arm and pushed it down. "We need help to rescue the Princess." He looked down at the pair. They stared back at him, their eyes wide with fear and their hair clinging to their faces from their own sweat. "And I think we may just have found it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Thunder rolled from afar, a low groan that hinted at ominous things to come. Strange, then, that there had been hardly a cloud in the sky that morning. Montero frowned as he lifted himself up from his Throne. His father stood before him, looking older and sicklier than he had ever done before. The old man's time was nearly up. What a relief it would be. For both of them.

"I don't understand your question, father," the young King said, trying to force as much sincerity as he could into his voice. It was, he realised, very difficult. He flicked a glance over at Impa, standing away at a respectful distance. Her face was an expressionless mask.

"Do not toy with me," Ganondorf said in-between a series of coughing fits. His voice was raspy and his hair was losing its vibrant colour. "I asked you what you were up to."

Montero shrugged. "What I'm supposed to be doing," he said impatiently and sitting back down. He was already in a foul mood and he cracked his knuckles to ease the tension. Their voices echoed throughout the Throne room and the King waited until his had faded away. "Running the state. What else would I be doing?" The thunder rumbled, sounding a little less distant.

Ganondorf snapped his head around towards his son, his coppery eyes fiery. "No!" he spat. "No. All this activity. All these little trips that you go out on. You are planning something, boy." He coughed, and Impa took a step forward. Waving her away with a snarl, he continued, "Do not ruin what I have built, son. I will not see the Dragmire name stained as it was in the past."

The King leaned forward, unable to keep the sneer from his face. His patience was slipping faster than sand through an hourglass. "You won't, I assure you."

Ganondorf twitched, catching the hint. "Whatever it is you are doing," he said, softening his tone. His face sagged with weariness, the many summers catching up to him quickly. "Make sure it is for the good of the people."

Leaning back, Montero waited to see if his father had anything else to add. The thunder was now a steady, continuous rumble. He frowned again, puzzled.

"How goes your training with the Assassin's League?" Ganondorf asked with a sigh. "I heard you sent them out on a mission."

"Yes," Montero replied, a knot of pain twisting his forehead. How had his father known that? The mission was a secret. Clearly the old man wanted to show that he still wielded some influence in the Castle. The King stopped himself from chuckling. Let the decrepit fool wallow in his delusions.

"Have they completed it yet?" Ganondorf said. His heels squeaked on the polished floor.

"No," Montero replied simply. All he had asked the squadron to do was keep Link away from the city. If Servion was correct, the prophecy of the Hero recorded in the most ancient of scrolls referred to this boy. Unlikely though it was, Montero was not taking any chances. The boy would not be harmed though, unless, of course, he became a direct threat to his plans.

Servion, on the other hand, was a different prospect altogether. As soon as the notion of possessing the Triforce had tickled Montero's fancy, he had brought the Hylian Chief into his confidence. The opportunistic weasel had been trying to worm his way into Montero's favour for many summers. It must have shocked the man to have been summoned so abruptly. Surprisingly Servion had been all too willing to share all the information he had had at his disposal. That, in itself, had disturbed the young King. What exactly had the Chief been planning for so long for him to have come across all this knowledge? Still. It would do him no good. Servion had pledged himself to Montero. When the time came for the Chief to be discarded, it would be done quickly and swiftly.

"I see that you have a lot on your mind," Ganondorf said, turning towards the door. "I bid you good day."

"And you," Montero said. "Do not worry, father. I will not shame our name."

Ganondorf threw him one last warning of a look, before striding out of the chamber.

Montero beckoned to Impa to come forward. "Where is it?" he asked. "Where is the Triforce of Courage?"

Impa kept her gaze level, not flinching from his heated stare. "I don't know. For the thousandth time, I do not know."

"Who else would want it?" the King said, more to himself than to his attendant. "Who else even knows about it?" He smacked his fist against the side of his Throne. The chair shivered under the impact and the sound rang out in shimmering waves.

"It's hard to say," Impa said slowly. Her voice was neutral, having become used to his recent outbursts. Perhaps she had finally learnt her true place in the world. "All records of it were stored in the Castle library. And it was clear from the state of the scrolls that they had not been disturbed for many a summer."

"Maybe...maybe if we could find the source of the Triforce's power..." Montero said, ideas flitting through his mind.

"Hardly," Impa said bluntly. "It is said that it contains the power of the goddesses."

Montero snorted, a harsh chuckle escaping his lips. "Blasphemy," he spat. "Magic. Goddesses. Childish superstitions from a people who didn't know better." He shook his head. "No. This Triforce...whatever it is...must be coated with the blessings of the One, Unseen. It's His power that is behind it. Just like His power is behind everything."

Impa raised an eyebrow. "I didn't take you to be the religious type," she said, her words laced with sarcasm. "The priests would be proud with a sermon such as that."

"And what?" he snarled. "You believe the superstitions?"

Impa gave a quick shake of her head. "No," she said. "You're right. But _regardless_ of its origin, it is not in our hands just yet."

"No," Montero said thoughtfully. "It is not." The King sighed, rubbing the bristle on his chin. His single-minded devotion to his present task had eaten up all his time and he hadn't even had a chance to attend to himself. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all. Some sort of action was necessary. The frustration tore at him from within, making him jittery and irritable. "Bring the Harkinian traitor to me," he said. "He might know something." An idea occurred to him, one that would give him a chance to ease his restlessness. "We need to redouble our efforts in finding the Triforce of Power. I personally will lead the search."

"Yes, Sire," Impa said, bowing her head slightly. If she was surprised by his decision she didn't show it. Her voice echoed around the chamber. "Is there anything else?"

"Kisho and his squad," he said with a lazy wave of his hand. "What news of them?"

"They have tracked the boy to a village nearby Prison Complex G," she replied.

Montero's heart skipped a beat and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Where the Princess is?"

"Yes."

"He's been kept alive long enough. Make sure he doesn't get any further."

"Understood," she paused, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

"Yes?" the King asked.

"Sire," she said, pausing again as she sought for the right words. "They may be unwilling to strike one of their own. Perhaps another team...?"

"No," Montero said, cutting her off. "I want him broken. They don't have to kill him if they don't want to." Scorn coated his last words and he coughed to regain his composure. "Just make sure he doesn't get to the Princess."

"Understood."

The King tapped his fingers against the side of his Throne. Thoughts whirled around his head. Everything was so precariously balanced. He had believed, somewhat foolishly, that becoming monarch would give him greater control. Instead, he found that affairs were as chaotic as usual. It irritated him, that. Everything needed to be brought into line. It was what he was born for, he was certain.

The thunder was throbbing now, as though it was organic, growing and pulsing with life. Voices were mixed within it, shouts and angry cries. The thought jolted him out of his musings. This was _not_ thunder. He shot a panicked look at Impa. Their faces froze and their eyes locked. She realised it too. "What _is_ that noise?"

Someone rapped at the door urgently. Impa pulled her gaze away from the King and strode towards the entrance, quickly removing all trace of fear from her face. Montero saw this, thanked her silently for it, and did the same.

She opened the door. A Messenger boy stood there, his face contorted with terror.

"Speak," Impa demanded.

"It's madness. The blood, the carnage."

Montero rose to his feet and stepped down to the floor. "Spit it out, man," he bellowed. "What's going on?"

The Messenger took a step back, cowering, and glanced from one to the other, his lips flapping, but no words coming out. "The Hylians," he said finally. "The Hylians are rioting."

...

"I need to get inside."

Moonlight stained the night sky, casting a pale, silvery glow on the foreboding looking building that stood in front of her. Tiny flickers of torchlight seeped out from the slits in the dark, crumbling walls and Sheik could see the hint of movement from high up in the ramparts, knowing that the guards placed there were watching and waiting for the slightest suspicion of escape. Sheik, though, wasn't interested in escape. At least, not yet, that is.

"Inside there, missy?" a voice called from behind her. "Whatever for?"

Sheik turned around as an old, Calatian woman hobbled over to her, back bent and toothless. Carissa and her fellow traders had found Sheik in the ditch where Impa had left her. They'd nursed her back to health over the past few days, providing food, a change of clothes and much needed company. They had not, however, removed her mask and had forced water through the ragged bandages wrapped around her face so that she could drink.

Sheik felt the warm flow of gratitude fill her heart for their respectfulness. They had not discovered that she was a Hylian and she found that she wasn't too troubled with the prospect of their ever finding out. They were good people, and they had helped her cheat death. Now she had to grasp that opportunity and get to the Princess. Not that she wouldn't still be careful, though.

"I have a friend there," Sheik said. "She doesn't deserve to be in there. I need to get her out."

Carissa studied her with warm eyes. "It'll be dangerous, missy," she said with a sigh.

Sheik smiled under her mask. The old woman wasn't going to ask any questions and again she felt a surge of gratitude. They were good people indeed, and Sheik felt certain that they had come as an answer to her prayers. She shuddered inwardly as she pondered over what manner of people could have found a relatively defenceless young girl. Memories flooded back from a time long ago, but she bit down to push them away. She had seen the darkness that lurked in men's eyes - seen it, faced it, and beaten it.

Sheik hugged herself, to protect herself from the biting chill on the outside and the frost that had coated her heart at that moment. "Can you help me?" she said. "I know I ask much. And that you have been more than hospitable towards me." She bit her lower lip, frustrated. "If there was only some way I could repay you."

"Hush, little one," Carissa said, making Sheik flinch involuntarily. The voice that had come to her, thick with evil and prodding at the edge of her consciousness, had called her that too. It was gone now, but she could still sense it slumbering at the deep centre of her mind, waiting for the moment to awaken. "What is it that you need?"

Sheik blinked, the old woman's question bringing her back into the moment. "Weapons. Daggers, I don't know if you can find them." She glanced over at the prison complex. They had stopped here to fix a wheel on the cart. Apparently, they were not too far away from a village that they had planned to rest overnight in. "I need a way in."

Silence fell as Carissa looked towards her fellow traders. They were buzzing around the broken cart as though it were an injured animal. Full of good cheer, they applied the same care to it as they had done to Sheik. A fire burned in one corner of the clearing, golden sparks floating into the sky and coating them all in a reddish glow. Their clothes had no coherency to them, patched together as they were from many different sources. Multi coloured rags that were now faded, but still somehow suited them perfectly, seemingly able to mesh with the simple contentedness that the traders exuded. Sheik wore the same clothes as well, shedding her usual 'uniform' that she wore whenever she had to venture outside. Her old clothes were torn, soaked in blood and filthy. The new apparel, despite the mismatched colours, was another thing for her to be grateful to the traders for.

"We can do both," Carissa said softly, turning back to Sheik.

The young Harkinian raised an eyebrow, the night breeze playing with her hair. She wondered what, exactly, was the true nature of Carissa and her friends. She hadn't spent much time with them, and all she had done so far was rest, sipping on the hot, spicy, soup that they brought her as their cart and bounced and rattled over the uneven path. She had spoken to them, their warm company a soothing balm, but had never enquired as to the nature of their business, so taken had she been with their infectious cheerfulness. As a child she had heard stories of the Wandering Ones, people with no home and living in great hardship, but whose hearts were not brittle enough to not aid others if they merited it. She had always thought them to be a myth. But perhaps she was wrong. She had been wrong about a lot of things recently.

Her time with the traders had been rejuvenating. Their nights had been long, spent around a crackling fire that drove away the chill as they told stories and sang songs. For long moments during those nights Sheik had felt an aching sense of belonging that had reminded her of times past. Still. The Princess lived. She still had _someone._

Sheik opened her mouth to speak, but Carissa held up a hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sssh," she said. "We ask you no questions. We expect the same in return."

"I understand," Sheik replied with a smile. "How soon can everything be ready?"

Carissa shrugged. "Mid-morning, tomorrow." She looked down for a moment, as though she were ashamed about something. "You realise, little missy, that you have to do this on your own."

"I always work best alone." She winced, not really knowing why she'd put so much steel into her voice. The memory of Kafei's betrayal was still raw and chafed her soul.

The old Calatian woman didn't seem to be too vexed; in fact, she appeared to be quite relieved. "Are you sure you're up for this, missy?" she said, her voice filled with concern. "You're still recovering."

Sheik _was_ a little sore. Her joints still ached, and the spot where the arrow had hit her was red and tender like lightly cooked meat. She was no longer stiff though, and whatever ointments Carissa had rubbed on her wounds these past few nights had worked miracles. She could move. She could use a weapon. It was enough. "I'll manage. Thank you."

Carissa smiled, holding out a hand. "Then let us spend one last night singing and telling stories." Her fingers curled around Sheik's and her face, illuminated by the fire, took on a melancholy look. "We will miss you, young missy. It's been a while since we enjoyed the company of young ones." She paused again. "I hope all goes well for you. May the One, Unseen protect you."

Sheik felt her heart tighten at the unexpected show of affection. She hadn't spent that long with them, but already she had grown attached. They had done more than soothe her body. They had soothed her soul as well. Smiling, she let herself be led back to the others.

When they reached the cart, Carissa motioned for her to stop. "I need to show you something first."

Confused and curious, Sheik watched as the old Calatian rummaged about in amongst all the goods, muttering happily to herself. It was a large vehicle, pulled along by three horses, and room enough for four people alongside all their merchandise.

Finally Carissa gave a cry of triumph and pulled out an odd looking contraption. She blew some of the dust off and unfolded it to its true length before presenting it to Sheik to inspect. Animal skin had been stretched expertly into the shape of wings, wooden rods holding everything in place with tightened coil. Leather harnesses hung limply from the rods, the metal clasps tinkling with every movement.

"What is it?" Sheik asked, a little nervous.

"This," Carissa said with a twinkle in her eye, "is what we folk call a glider." She smiled, showing her rotted gums. "This is your way into the prison complex." She laughed, as though she had just uttered the most humorous thing in history. "You're going to fly, missy."

...

Tarn Redscorch was proud of his little inn. He had been born in the tiny converted cottage, grown up there, married and lived there. Spending his childhood following his parents around as they had tended to the guests, he had picked up all their mannerisms; their warm hospitality, their generous ways and, most of all, their sharp eye when deciding which guests were suitable enough to stay. Because of all this, when the time came for the cottage inn to be handed over to Tarn himself no one had batted an eyelid; indeed, they all commented on how little things had changed. Tarn felt his heart swell at that. That's the way he wanted it. He had maintained his parents high standards and, so, had fulfilled his purpose in life. All that remained was for him to pass on what he knew to his own children.

The sounds of the inn washed over him now, basking him in a warmth that no fire could equal. Everything was as it should be - the murmur of the patrons, the scraping of chairs and the light tinkle of cutlery. The maids swept the floor to make sure that not even a speck of dust could have a moment's rest, the hems of their skirts swishing in time with their motions. The laughter and the energy indicated a business still in its prime.

Tarn sat at his desk in the main dining area and surveyed his kingdom, content with all that his hard work and careful organisation had achieved. He knitted his fingers together and sat back, sighing happily.

A shadow fell across the desk breaking Tarn out of his reverie. He looked up and grimaced immediately. Many summers of practice had told him how to recognise an unsuitable customer almost instantaneously.

"Yes?" the innkeeper said, looking the young man up and down. The visitor was little more than a boy, dressed in black and, Tarn noticed immediately, sporting a dangerous looking crossbow that dangled from his waist. Dirty blond hair peeked out from under his hood, unkempt just like his clothes.

The youngster grinned, his eyes sparkling. He placed his palms flat on the desk and looked down at the innkeeper. "Morning, good sir," he said, a little too cheerily. "Some rooms for a party of four." He nodded towards a table in one corner where three others sat - a woman with a spiked ball and chain, a big man with two foils and an old man with an even older bow. They were dirty and their clothes were ragged. Tarn felt his face crease with revulsion. No. This was not acceptable at all.

"M'lord," Tarn said, trying to swallow the distaste from his mouth. "We only serve..." he coughed, clearing his throat. "We only serve _respectable_ folk here."

The young man's grin grew wider. "Good! Glad to hear it!" he said. "Now, where do we ink the contract, my good man?"

"M'lord." Tarn could feel his head start to ache. "You _misunderstand._" He let out a breath, wondering how to phrase his next words. Tarn decided it would be best if he went straight to the point. He cleared his throat. "We do not cater to...to...ruffians and miscreants."

The youngster stood up straight, frowning. Tarn gulped, wondering if he had pushed the brute too far.

"Ruffians and miscreants, you say?" the young man said, rubbing his chin.

"Yes," Tarn said bluntly. "Ruffians and miscreants." His eyes flicked over to the little group and he noticed their armaments once more. "Your weapons..."

"...are very nice aren't they?" the young man finished, the easy grin returning to his face. "Those swords on the big man there? They did this." He pointed to the slit in his tunic. Tarn leaned forwards, curious despite his reservations. A thin red bruise had blossomed on the youngster's chest.

"Your..._friend_...did this?" the innkeeper said, failing to keep the doubt from his voice.

The youngster licked his lips and leaned forward on his elbows. He glanced from left to right as though searching for enemies. He beckoned Tarn to come closer, and then began whispering in a conspiratorial tone of voice. "The big man," he said, cocking his head towards his friend. "He's a bit mad."

Slowly both Tarn and the young man turned their heads in unison to look over at the object of their conversation. The big man waved back. Tarn turned away.

"In fact," the youngster continued. "They're all a bit mad. It's the cold, you see."

Tarn turned his head towards the table once more. The trio all grinned back.

The innkeeper stood up straight, tiring of the conversation. "_No_, m'lord," he said, letting out an exasperated breath. "I mean to say that you cannot bring your weapons here."

The young man gazed at him, a look of mock-hurt etched on his face. "No weapons?"

"No," Tarn said bluntly.

"Then how are we supposed to defend ourselves?"

"Defend yourselves from what?"

"From 'whom', you mean."

Tarn blinked. He felt his head ache more violently. "Defend yourselves from _whom_, m'lord?"

"From ruffians and miscreants, my good man."

"As I have already mentioned", the innkeeper said testily. "There are no ruffians and miscreants here."

"There will be."

"There will?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The young man grinned once again. "Because after I tell all my fellow ruffians and miscreants that they're not welcome here, I'm sure they will be aching to pay you a little visit." He winked.

Tarn opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried again, but this time all he could manage was a squeak. "Sir," he said, when his voice finally returned. "Do you have any coinage?"

"Why, yes, my good man," the youngster said. "We do."

...

"We have rooms," Link said as he returned to their table and slid into an empty chair.

Fran gazed at him impassively. "Was that really necessary?" he asked.

"Was _what_ really necessary?" the assassin replied.

The old man waved his hand towards the innkeeper. "The theatrics."

Link looked at him with a serious frown. "He thinks we're simpletons. Therefore, he'll underestimate us." The young man glanced over his shoulder. "But he also thinks we're dangerous and so he won't bother us." Link gave a little nod, as though he was completely satisfied with the proceedings. "See?"

"This is what they teach you, lad?" Fran asked, his voice laced with doubt. Something was bothering him about Link's behaviour.

"At the castle?" the young Hylian replied. The bubbling chatter of the inn filled the air and Fran had to crane his neck forward to catch Link's words. "Assassins have to be subtle. Deception is a part of that."

Fran leaned back with a sigh and studied Link carefully. He wasn't sure about the truth of the boy's words, but what disturbed him the most was the glow in the youngster's eyes. The near crazed look of someone that had sloughed off all the burdens in their life and was tasting unbridled freedom for the very first time. Without restrictions or reservations, like a serpent uncoiled.

Fran had known that, despite the dangerous nature of his profession, Link had led a somewhat sheltered life. Both his sister and, in their own way, his former squadron had cared for him and tried to protect him as much as possible. The boy had grown up to be a somewhat stoic and serious adolescent. The old man had often wondered how Link would develop once he was let loose on his own. He had imagined that, with a little guidance from himself of course, the boy would naturally turn into the Link he had known so many summers ago. But the reality that faced him now was very disconcerting. A young man, skilled in all the wrong things, brimming with confidence, a sharp tongue and questionable motives. Could Fran really blame the lad though? Link had been through so much in the past week, and it was clear that he was not mature enough to cope with it all. He had thought that Link would retreat further into his shell. Instead, the exact opposite had happened.

"Doesn't this..." the big man said.

"...draw attention to us?" the woman finished.

The Marauder Twins, Eagle and Rya, days after attempting to kill both Link and Fran were now their allies. The Calatian bounty hunters had been swayed first by their defeat at Link's hands and then by the money Fran offered them to aid in their mission. The Twins hadn't been in the least bit disturbed that their new clients were Hylian. Fran, on the other hand _was_ troubled. The Twins and the rooms they had just hired all added up to one thing - that they was fast running out of money, especially as he had had to offer the bounty hunters more than what the King was offering for Link's head.

"That's the beauty of it," Link said, slouching back in his chair lazily. His voice had that soft twinge to it that indicated a lifetime spent amongst the silence of shadows. "The innkeeper won't suspect those that are under his very noses. There's an art to being deceptive." The assassin looked up, noticing the looks of disbelief on the Twins' faces. "What about you two? How do we know you won't scarper at the first sign on danger?" His cocked his head to one side; his mouth curling into what was now becoming a familiar grin. "It's dangerous, see. You don't know what you might find there. Ghosts. Moblins. Spooks." He paused, his face creasing as though he doubted his words were having the right effect and so he had to search desperately for the killer blow. "Rabid cuccos."

Fran closed his eyes and shook his head.

"We assure you, young master..." Eagle said, his tone biting.

"...we will complete the contract we have with you," Rya continued. "We will collect our fee..."

"...or die in the attempt. From now, from the moment we enter this prison you speak of, our blood is yours until this undertaking is over."

"Excellent," Link said absentmindedly. "You two can go in first, then."

_"Link,_" Fran said, glaring. The boy was not coping at all. He was hiding what he really felt behind bluster and foolishness. Clearly he was trying to push people away. Or, Fran thought after a moment's reflection, he was trying to protect them.

The youngster shrugged. "I'm just getting into the spirit of things, Fran," he said. "Seeing how we're on an insane mission in the first place."

An awkward silence fell over the group at that moment. They were still not familiar enough with one another to be able to voice their concerns over Sahasrahla's proposed task.

"How is it," Link asked abruptly, "that the two of you knew how to find us?"

The Twins exchanged glances. "We had information," Eagle said.

"We were told that you might venture out towards this prison," Rya said. "That we were to scout the paths and wait for you."

"Information from the King?" the young Hylian asked.

"No," Eagle said, the tone in his voice indicating that he was unsure as to whether or not he should be speaking on this at all. "Other sources."

"They did not reveal themselves to us," Rya said.

Fran narrowed his eyes. He felt fear grip his heart and his stomach churned with nauseous ferocity. Servion. It had to be. The Chief was aware of their plans, or had, at the very least, second-guessed them. But how? And why?

Blinking his thoughts away, Fran turned to the Twins. "We need ideas," he said. "How do we get into the prison?"

"Do we know..." Rya said.

"...where exactly this 'princess' is being held in the building?"

"No," Link said, flicking at the table. "We have no idea. Sahasrahla didn't tell us much." He looked over at the Twins. "Friend of his, see. Very close." He paused as the Twins waited for him to elaborate. "Tried to kill us."

The Twins frowned. Fran cleared his throat. "Ideas?"

The village they were currently in wasn't too far away from the prison complex; in fact, the large, many towered building dominated the horizon, casting a dark shadow over the surrounding area like a dark sentinel. They had to plan now and execute it on the morrow. Fran and Link only had enough money for one night.

Eagle pursed his lips, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "It would seem wise to take the young master's lead..."

"...and utilise the art of deception," Rya finished.

Fran sighed once more. He had a sinking suspicion he knew where this was going. "The simplest plans are always the best, aye?"

Eagle smiled, giving a small nod.

"Right," Rya said.

"I take it Eagle will be the prisoner," Fran said. "While we are the guards?"

"That is..." the big man said.

"...correct," the smaller woman finished.

Fran closed his eyes, trying to stop his head from spinning. The hustle and bustle of the inn didn't aid him much in his task. It still took him a moment to adjust whenever he spoke to the Twins, their strange speech patterns making his eyes and attention flick from one to another until he felt dizzy.

"What about clothes?" he asked. "We need to blend in."

"We will..." Rya said.

"...handle that," Eagle finished.

"Bounty hunters..."

"...are always prepared."

"What about documentation?" Fran asked as he mulled the plan over in his mind. "They'll want to see something official."

"I can fake the papers," Link said, idly scratching at the grooves on the wooden table. Still so easily distracted, Fran thought. How in the world did the boy ever become an assassin? Still. It comforted him to know that he hadn't changed completely.

The others all turned to Link. The young man looked up, surprised. "I just need a quill and some ink." He stopped, noticing that the others wanted him to explain further. "It's another assassin trick," he said sheepishly.

Fran licked his lips, thinking. "So that's how we get in," he said slowly. He scratched his chin as all the possibilities danced in his head. "Then we find the Princess. And get out."

"We do not know..." Rya said.

"...what the Princess looks like."

Fran opened his mouth to speak. Despite what Link had said earlier, Sahasrahla had given them _some_ information.

"She's Hylian," Link said, cutting the older man off.

"So?" Eagle asked.

Link leaned forwards, pretending to tire of the conversation. "So she has pointy ears."

"My friend told us only two Hylians were being taken to this prison," Fran said quickly. "It shouldn't be too difficult to find them if that is the case."

"If...?" Rya asked.

Fran ignored the question. "We still need to find out how to release her. There will be guards, soldiers..."

"Rabid cuccos." Link added.

The older man grit his teeth, fixing a hot stare on the young assassin. The Twins squirmed in their seat, as though they could feel the temperature dropping slightly.

"Link, if you have nothing use-"

"It's simple," the assassin said, suddenly taking on an air of seriousness. "We release _all_ the prisoners. My crossbow can break the locks. Therefore, there will be complete chaos and the guards will be distracted. We sneak in. We find our Princess. We walk straight out. See?" He stared at Fran, his eyes daring the older man to dispute him. "Meet you all here at dawn?"

Fran continued to stare back, trying to fathom exactly how committed Link was to this endeavour. He felt his cheek twitch. The boy clearly didn't believe in their mission, and in that aspect he was a far cry from the Link that Fran had known. The young Hylian sitting before him was still a picture of stoic calm. Fran nodded at the Twins. "Aye, at dawn," he said, getting up and gathering his supplies. "Be ready."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Link was in a light-hearted mood. Smiling, his heart pulsing with life, he led Fran and the Twins across the cracked stone bridge that connected the prison complex to the rest of the land. Dawn's pale light crept up the prison's walls, highlighting the dull, rusted portcullis that stood in their path. _Freedom. _Just the thought of the word reminded him that he had been stripped of all the stifling restrictions that had held him down all his life; the Assassin's Code, Mystral's smothering touch, Fran's insistent sermons. Now nothing really mattered to him. All he was responsible to was himself and the One, Unseen. Nobody else could judge him.

He flexed his fingers, letting fly tiny shards of ice that had coated his leather gloves, and breathed in the chill, cold morning air. Ever since he had bested the Twins in combat he had felt reborn, the last traces of his old self finally scorched away in the heat of battle. Or so he hoped. This was a fool's errand, he knew. He also knew that this was probably the last day he would see. No fear touched him, nor grief. His jumbled, sorry excuse of a life would come to an end this day and his soul would finally soar to be, he hoped, reunited with his parents. Hopefully he would learn exactly why his life had twisted and turned so much, would see the wisdom behind every small event. He knew there must be some. He _believed_ there was; he had to, if only to hold on to the last shreds of his battered sanity.

Link almost scoffed at his own sense of melodrama. Mystral would probably have shaken him, told him to stop thinking so negatively. A sour taste flooded his mouth at the remembrance of his sister's name. Closing his eyes, he tried to shake both her voice and her image from his mind. Sahasrahla's words had pierced deep into his heart. There was no way for him to get to her now; no way he could free her by himself, and, he thought wryly, there was little chance that the squat old man could truly help him. The finality of his decision weighed down on him, but he knew it to be true. They - whoever 'they' were - had won and he had not. Justice was not forthcoming. At least, not in this life.

Still. A faint ember of hope, teasing and taunting like a rash that refused to heal, burned within. He had to try. He had to see what would come if they truly did free this Princess.

Link closed his eyes, trying to shut out the murmur of voices around him, and then let out a breath. The contradictory thoughts, spinning and confusing, ached in his head. No sooner did he set himself firmly upon one path, before another, equally enticing, would whisper seductively to him. He needed to cling onto something. He needed to look deep within.

He found it. Anger smouldered in his heart, flowing through his veins and pushing him onwards. It cleared his mind just as the sun cleared the night sky of darkness. He didn't have to release it; he only needed to feed upon it. To be resigned to fate he could handle. To not see justice win out he could accept. But that didn't mean he had to _tolerate_ injustice. The anger flashed in response to his thoughts, like sunlight off of polished steel. It was enough.

He looked over at Fran walking besides him. The older man's face was pinched with tension, his eyes darting from left to right.

"Nervous?" Link asked calmly.

"Aye, lad," Fran said in a measured voice. "If we fail today, all hope would be lost. There's a good chance none of us will come out of this alive."

Link smiled. It felt strange, like a taut rope around his face. "One can only hope."

Fran turned to him, his eyes flaring. "Lad, you don't seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation."

Link looked at the three of them, taking in the determined expressions that hung on their faces. It was strange, he thought. He'd been taught to consider all targets as nothing more than meat. Diseased, flea ridden meat that needed to be put out of their misery. But here were these people - Fran and the Twins - with hopes and concerns, ready to give their all for something they believed in, despite their differing motivations. Sighing, Link realised that, no matter how much he didn't want to, he admired all three of them. Not that he would ever tell them. His fingers curled into a fist. He was not going to let them down like he had let Mystral down. He might not agree with their reasons, but, at the moment, their little venture was the only reason he had to keep plodding on. That, however, was all. He didn't want to get too attached.

"Still," he said. "It _is_ a nice day."

Fran looked up, noticed the angry looking clouds slowly amassing in the greyish sky, and merely grunted in response.

They stood, feeling increasingly restless, at the back of a queue of other prisoners and their wards. The line shuffled silently onwards. There were complaints, moans and angry little outbursts, but only occasionally did any of the prisoners try to physically struggle. Even then, the guards would silence them with swift blows from their weapons.

Link, Fran and Rya were all dressed in the garb of prison guardsmen. Where the Twins had managed to rustle up the clothes, Link didn't know. Eagle, his head hanging low and his wrists in iron clasps, stood behind them, pulled along by a chain. It had come as no surprise to them that Rya had decided to oversee her brother's bonds. Link looked down at his new attire and shook his head. He much preferred black.

"You should have worn green," Fran whispered, leaning closer.

"Why?" Link asked.

"That was the Hero of Time's colour."

Link sighed again, not really wanting to discuss mythology at this time. Silence hung between them for a heartbeat, the bulging sack containing their weapons swinging at Link's side, before he spoke again. "A question."

"Yes?"

"If he wore green," he continued, licking his lips. "How did he avoid being spotted by his enemies?"

Fran frowned as the line took another step forward. "He managed," he said quickly. "Somehow."

Nodding, Link lapsed into silence again. Birds flew overhead, swept along by currents of air, their wings flapping against a sky now heavy with dark clouds. The young Hylian kicked a pebble out of his path and watched as it clattered down into the chasm below, spinning all the way.

"Another question."

"Go ahead," Fran said in a wry voice.

"This Princess," Link continued. "Is she pretty?" A pause. "And which kingdom is she sovereign of, exactly?"

Fran glanced over at the Twins to make sure they were ready. They nodded back at him. The line inched forward. "As I keep telling you every time you ask, lad, I don't know what she looks like," he said finally. "As for which kingdom." He paused, frowning. "It's a long story. That's all you need to know for now."

They stepped forward and came face to face with the gatesmen. Link gave them a small nod, the mischievous feeling of undiluted freedom creeping into his heart once more. He studied their faces quickly, and came to an easy conclusion. The smile returned to his face.

"Gents," he said as they gave Eagle a quick glance.

The head gatesman scribbled something on his scroll, the scratching of his quill the only sound, bar the shuffling of feet. "Crime?"

The corner of Link's mouth curled. "Illegal castration."

The man's hand froze and he blinked, before looking up. "What?"

Link licked his lips. "Nasty temper, see. Say the wrong thing to him and it's chestnut collecting season come early." He opened the sack and pulled out one of Eagle's foils. "He used this."

The gatesman leaned forward, his fellow guards also gathering around. Tentatively, he reached out a hand towards the blade.

The young assassin hissed, making the men jump. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The men glanced up at him.

"Don't know where it's been, do you?" He replaced the foil with the ball and chain. "He used this, too." The men's eyes widened. One looked a little nauseous. Link put the weapon back and pulled out the crossbow. "And this." The gatesmen all swallowed, some involuntarily crossing their legs. Link grinned. "My favourite."

The head gatesman cleared his throat. "Documentation."

"Of course," Link said, handing over a scroll. He could see Fran shuffle his feet nervously from the corner of his eye. "I admire you gents."

"Oh yes?" the head gatesman said, his eyes darting left to right as he scanned the paper.

"Yes," Link said. "Out in the open air. You get to meet such interesting people. It must be so..." his eyes fell on one of the guards who was desperately trying to stifle a yawn. "...stimulating."

The gatesman rolled the scroll up. "Everything seems to be in order." He held Link's gaze for a heartbeat, then snapped his fingers indicating to the others that the portcullis was to be raised. "Take this one up to the _high_ security area. Where we keep all our...dangerous...prisoners."

Link nodded, stepping under the raised gate with his friends. A drop of water fell on his hood.

"Yes, sir." With a smile, he stepped into the darkness.

...

Acrid smoke, stinging eyes and choking throats, stained the early morning sky. Torchlight spilled a scarlet glow onto the now burning buildings of the city, the last remnants of a battle that had raged through the night. Castle Dragmire, its walls spattered with blood, was ablaze. Flames caressed the ancient rock, stretching glass until it popped and cracked. Hylians strode through the streets, axes at the ready, snapping the necks of anyone who stood in their path. Deep, guttural laughter echoed through the streets. Screams rang out, rising into inhuman shrieks before fading into deathly silence.

Shattered bodies, twisted into inhuman shapes, lined the streets, silent and unmoving. Others still lived, their clothes ablaze, fleeing in a blazing mass like torchlight given life. Braver ones stood their ground, bellowing incomprehensibly as they threw themselves into the fray. It did little good. They were not fighters.

Others realised this and devoted their energies to dragging the wounded away, leaving streaks of blood under the dark, cold sky. Clouds, pregnant with either rain or snow, loomed overhead, silent witnesses to the slaughter.

Montero rested one hand on the cold, crumbling ramparts of the Castle's wall, and surveyed the scene, Impa standing at his side. Flecks of dried blood, caught in the fiery updraft, flew off his fingers. He felt strangely calm, as though he were an ethereal spirit watching on from the netherworld. All his anger had drained away after one hellish night filled with panicked escapes and desperate, blood soaked battles. He stretched, letting the knotted pain in his muscles and the weary ache in his bones wash over him

"They pinpointed all our weaknesses," Impa said bitterly, her eyes glazed with anger and fear. "They knew how to strike at us, how to hurt us." She took in a deep breath. "The sentry towers. The ones that we needed to add more armour to, they hit them. They took a cart piled high with barrels of explosive powder, cut loose the horses and let it run into the armoury."

The King glanced over at her, noticed her shaking her head, and knew that this cut her more deeply, especially since she was in charge of security.

"Indeed," Montero said. After the past few days of raging tantrums it felt odd to him to feel so serene. A strange sensation of suffocation enveloped him, and the sounds of the battle faded, becoming dull and dreamlike. He blinked. Focused. He had to stay focused. "It didn't help that our finest soldiers all went down with food poisoning."

"They got into our kitchens," Impa spat. "Contaminated the food. How did they know?" She smacked a fist against the wall, skinning her knuckles and drawing blood.

The King sniffed, trying to remove the burning smell of charred wood. There was another scent in there, too. A scent that hinted at things more brutal. He grimaced. "Patience," he said. "We must flee. Regroup. They are but a small group." He felt his anger grow, turning his heart to ice. "Worthless vermin."

Impa gazed into the melee, her face distant. "They must have prepared this for months," she said quietly.

"Indeed," he said. He knew exactly who had double-crossed him. Servion. His soul erupted in fury just at the mention of the turncoat's name. "We need to find some messenger birds," he continued, desperately trying to keep his voice level. He failed. "Contact all the Assassin Squadrons that are out on missions and recall them to some sort of sanctuary."

Boots scraped on stone behind them, and the two of them spun around. At first they saw nothing, the wind buffeting the thick, black smoke to and fro. Slowly two figures appeared. No, three. A man and a woman carrying a child. The breeze tugged at the woman's hair, her face stretched in fear like an unfurled scroll. In one distant corner of his mind, Montero realised that if people were coming up to the roof so freely that must mean that his guards were all dead.

Kafei stopped before them, a thin slit on his forehead letting blood pour down his dirt streaked face.

"Well, well, well," the King said, glass crunching under his boots as he stepped forward. "If it isn't another Hylian traitor." His face darkened and he stared hard at the Harkinian. "Must run in your blood."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kafei said, coughing. "We had no connection with the other Hylians. We feared them as much as we feared you." He breathed deeply, his eyes stretching imploringly. "My family. I have to protect my family."

The King resisted the urge to sneer. The traitor was truly pathetic. Montero glanced at the woman briefly, before turning his attention back to the man. "There are bigger issues at stake here. No one is safe."

Kafei gazed past him, his eyes widening as he took in the carnage. "This Servion person. He had guts."

The King's eyes thinned to slits as a sudden thought jolted his mind. "Indeed," he said, his tone sour. "He had _courage._" He turned to Impa. "Now, isn't that curious?"

Impa almost flinched from the shock. "You mean -"

"Ssssh," the King replied quickly. "Later."

Kafei looked from one to the other, hoping for an explanation, but none came. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words hung on his lips as all of them snapped their heads towards the horrendous sound of a door erupting into a cloud of splinters. "Anju!" he called, his heart pounding. "Behind me!"

Servion Boarhound strode onto the roof, his gait drunken and his eyes blazing. Other Hylians, one big and burly, the other thin and wiry, followed his lead, dragging a fallen man behind them. Montero recognised him instantly.

"Father."

"Yes," the Hylian Chief said. "Such a shame. He put up a decent fight." He spat out a blood stained tooth. "I sincerely hope that you are not going to follow in his footsteps."

Gritting his teeth, Montero strode forward, his torn cloak billowing in the wind, until he came face to face with the usurper. The Chief's men tensed, their joints cracking as though they were aching for more battle, but Servion beckoned for them to be still. Montero drew himself up to his full height, not wanting to appear cowed in front of the Hylians.

"The Triforce of Courage," the King said in a harsh whisper. "You have it."

Servion's eyes widened and Montero felt a burst of bitter satisfaction.

"Very clever," the Chief said. "Not that it will do you any good now."

"So this is how our little agreement ends, is it?"

"You would have betrayed me without the slightest hint of guilt," Servion snarled. "Typical Calatian."

The King cocked his head to one side. The man was right, of course. Not that he would let him know that. "The Triforce of Power. The Triforce of Wisdom. You have those, too?"

"The Triforce of Wisdom is already in your possession, my dear majesty," Servion said with a smile.

Frowning, Montero's head began to spin. How was that possible? He wanted to probe further, but kept his tongue still, not wanting to betray the fact that the Chief's words had caught him unawares.

Contempt burning in his eyes, the Chief gave a little laugh before continuing, "As for power. It looks like I have that now anyway, doesn't it?"

"There are still Assassin League squadrons out there," the King said defiantly.

"Really," Servion said, coating the word with scorn.

"You're a target," Montero continued. "No Calatian is going to rest easy with a Hylian in power." At the back of his mind he noticed that both Impa and Kafei were being unusually quiet. He didn't have time to dwell on the significance of that.

"We shall see about that," Servion said. "Once you give me the Triforce of Wisdom -"

"Fool." They all stopped at the sound of a woman's voice. For a heart stopping moment, Montero thought that Impa had spoken, but one glance at her confused face told him otherwise.

Servion spun on his heel, sighing. A Hylian woman stepped out of the darkness, her face hard, her eyes like ice.

"Mystral, my dear," the Chief said, his tone laced with impatience. "So nice of you to -"

"Silence yourself," she barked. One of the Hylians growled, but Servion waved him down. "What is this? What does this achieve?"

Montero exchanged looks with Impa, curious at the conversation. Clearly all was not well in the Hylian camp. Disunity amongst the enemy was always an advantage. Heart thudding, he closed his eyes trying to think. There must be someway to turn this to his advantage. There _must._

"A wedding gift," Servion continued, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

Folding her arms across her chest, Mystral glared at him. "No."

The Chief let out an angry breath. "Then revenge. For too long we have been under their heel. Now it is time for us to reclaim our birthright."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "By slaughter? Torture?" She shook her head.

"The Chief is right," the thin guard said, stepping forward. "How long are we going to be buried under the Calatians' heel?" He shook his fist. "This is the right way."

"There are other ways," Mystral replied. "We just didn't take the time to think about them." She looked at the guard. "And, Tom, I would have expected better from you."

"The lad speaks the truth," Servion said before Tom could answer. "Show these dogs the slightest hint of weakness and they will make you suffer for it for centuries. We are on a righteous path, and everyone except _you_ could see that. Surely that puts you in the wrong, unless you are arrogant enough to think that your opinion outweighs all of ours?" He snorted, then spat again. "And I always thought you to be the sweet, homely type. When did you become a scholar on the affairs of the world, _woman?_"

Mystral didn't flinch, maintaining her flinty stare. A pair of heartbeats later, and the one called Tom looked away, ashamed. A hint of a smile touched her lips. "How did you manage to convince the Elders to your insanity?"

"With this," Servion said, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a chain, at the end of which hung a small, triangular shaped object. Strange carvings were etched into its frayed surface, and it seemed to emit a dullish green glow. All the captives recognised it immediately. Kafei gasped and Montero snarled. The Chief shot them a look of contempt before turning back to the woman. "The Elders knew the significance of this. This was all that they needed to believe in the truth of my mission." His eyes flashed. "My blessed mission."

Unnerved by the tone in the Chief's voice, Montero looked towards the woman, hoping to catch some hint telling him that she would be an ally. None came. A sudden thought came to him, and the resulting sense of isolation smothered him, almost making him stumble. Kafei. Impa. This woman. All his potential 'friends' were Hylian.

Servion steadied himself, before continuing, "That day in the Meeting House should have sealed it. If it were not for your interfering brother..."

Mystral's eyes widened. "Link...?" she said, her voice trembling. "Where is he? What have you done to him?"

The Chief ignored her. "But now the Elders believe that he's a cold blooded murderer." He smiled unkindly. "How sweet it is."

The Hylian woman's curled into fists. "And after all that, you were going to propose marriage to me?" she spat. "You heartless-"

"Enough," Servion said, holding up a hand. He motioned to his men. "Take them away." His gaze lingered on the three Hylians for a heartbeat. "All of them."

...

"There's three others with him," Jonah said, adjusting the lens on his viewer. " A woman. A big man. And an older man. All of them bar the big one are dressed in prison garb." He lowered the viewer, slot it into his belt, and turned towards Kisho. "So what do we do?"

The Commander chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as the breeze blew powdered snow over their boots. In the distance Prison Complex G stood, framed with an orange tint from the rising sun. Behind him stood Rivero, opening and closing his fists in barely controlled fury. "We have our orders," Kisho said. "It's clear that Link is going after the Harkinian Princess."

Rivero roared, smashing one fist into a nearby tree. It shook, showering them with snow. "I knew it!" he bellowed. "I knew it was a bad idea to have a Hylian on our team."

His face remaining impassive, Kisho fixed his teammate with a hard stare. "Calm yourself," he said. "We need to clear our minds, all of us." He looked down, his face a mournful mask. "None of us are to blame for Link's...actions." His voice quavered with pain.

"It's not your fault, sir," Jonah said, smiling. "Perhaps...perhaps he could be reasoned with?"

Kisho shot him a venomous look. "Stop talking nonsense. _Think _about it. If he is here to find the Harkinian Princess, then all his training with us, all his practice with a bow and sword, were all for one purpose - to kill the King."

Jonah's eyes hardened, then flashed with anger. The Commander sighed with satisfaction, before continuing, "I trust that none of us are going to find this task difficult?"

Jonah swallowed. "No, sir." His chin twitched for a heartbeat. "I just can't believe it. We were friends -"

"It was nothing but a sham," Kisho said, wanting to end the conversation quickly. "A means to grow close to us so that we would be soft on him." An idea drifted into his mind. "Although, if there _was_ some sincerity, we could use it to our advantage..."

"I certainly won't find it difficult," Rivero said, his voice a low growl. "I'm looking forward to it."

The hatred and fury that drenched the big assassin's voice made the Commander turn to him once more. "This is a target like any other," he said, his words sharp with warning. "Remember that."

"Understood," the other two said.

Kisho turned to Jonah, the ground, padded with fresh snow, feeling deceptively light under his feet. "Jonah," he said, his voice reverting to its usual businesslike tone. "Update us."

"Sir," Jonah said with a nod. "The Harkinian Princess is under His Majesty's custody. She was captured by Commander Bailey and his Blue Order "

Kisho grimaced inwardly. Bailey's already fat head had swelled to a gargantuan size because of his latest hit. A hit he made sure to tell everyone about. "Continue."

"We have reason to believe that there will be an attempt to free her. We believe that this endeavour will be led by one of our own." Jonah's voice trembled, but he cleared his throat immediately. Kisho let it pass. "One of our _former_ members. Our task is to thwart this attempt."

Flicking a switch on his crossbow, Kisho closed his eyes, the whine of the weapon and the smell of burning powder soothing his heart. "Gentlemen," he said. "Let us begin."

...

"It is time..." Eagle said, the guard choking in his grasp.

"...young master, begin!" Rya finished, knocking another guard unconscious with one swing of her weapon.

Link nodded and turned towards the dark, narrow passageway, cells lining both sides. This was the 'high security' area of the prison, but the only difference that he could see between this and the lower levels were that more guards prowled the area, checking in on the inmates every hour. The metal bars were also slightly thicker.

This, they believed, was where the Princess was most likely to be held. They had hatched the scheme before sunrise, calculating how to get access to this area, and how to bring their weapons in at the same time. A tight smile stretched across Link's face. He'd enjoyed the little game outside. They had followed the other guards for a few hours, flashing their forged scrolls at anyone who asked, before finally getting the chance to slip away.

Link stepped forward, glanced momentarily at Fran, and then flicked the switch on his modified crossbow. The mechanical hum filled the gloomy corridor, exuding calm menace. The sound did not go noticed. Prisoners, first raising their heads curiously, then inching out of their bedding, shuffled to the bars.

There were fewer prisoners here, and Link had picked up a large number of arrows from the village. Still. He wasn't certain whether he would be able to get to the Princess before he ran out. Briefly he considered just searching the cells by eye, but rejected the idea immediately, knowing that at least one of the inmates would raise the alarm.

"Stand back," he said.

Link strode down the passageway, his arm swinging from left to right as he let arrows fly into the locks; a crack, a snap and the creak of a well rusted iron gate swinging open signifying success. Sparks coated his sleeves, while his boots, taking measured steps on the rocky ground, echoed in a rhythmic fashion.

The stench was horrendous. Urine, filth and the reek of unwashed bodies hung in the air, making the prison a claustrophobic tomb. Link ignored it as the others trotted behind him, their weapons raised. They glanced into each open cell searching for the Princess.

Their actions had caught someone's attention. The prisoners, cautiously as if fearing some trick, stepped into the corridor. Hushed voices murmured, then bubbled into shouts. Panicked cries came from below, and horns started to fill the air with their shrill cry - the alarm had been raised.

"She's not here," Fran cried, his voice tight, his head darting in and out of each prison cell. "She's not here."

Link kept himself calm. "I'm running out of arrows," he said, his voice level. "Whose idea was this, anyway?"

"Yours," Fran spat. "Come to think of it, lad, I'm not sure it's wise to let these people free." He glanced behind him as the prisoners started to pool into the open. "They are dangerous after all."

"You didn't protest at the inn," Link said. "If you'd only pointed out the flaws then, I would have reconsidered." He couldn't help the snideness that crept into his words. "I'm sure we could have just rapped at the door and asked for her back." He felt elated, his newfound sense of freedom freeing his tongue as well as his mind.

A flash of reflected light caught his eye. Fran saw it too.

"Your plan sounded a lot more sane back then," the older man replied.

Link gave a little shrug as Fran stopped outside the cell where the light had come from. "I didn't promise it would be sane," he said. "Besides, nobody expects anyone to do the insane." He leaned forward, noticing that the source of a light was a silvery pendant, hung around a prisoner's neck. "We have the advantage of surprise, see. Who would break into a prison and release all these prisoners - these murderers, rapists and all together unwholesome people?" He gave a little laugh. "Only fools."

Fran ignored him. "It's her," he said, pointing at the cell.

Curious at how Fran had come to that conclusion, but knowing they didn't have the time to ask, Link fired an arrow into the lock. The door swung open, revealing a small, sad faced Hylian female.

"Princess," Fran said, striding into the cell. Link stepped in as well, while the Twins stood guard. "Come with us."

The Princess stood, her face calm. Link studied her for a moment, noticing her pale blue eyes framed by pale, fair hair, and thought that she could be no more than a few summers older than himself. She still wore a necklace despite her prisoner garb and Link's eyes were drawn to the pendant that had somehow told Fran who she was.

"Who are you?" she said. Her voice was level, almost serene, and Link wondered how she could possibly stay so calm. She glanced past both of them, eyed the Twins for a moment, and saw the rush of screaming prisoners in the passageway outside. "What do you want?"

Fran turned his head to one side, so that she could see his Hylian features. "We're friends," he said quickly. "From Sahasrahla."

Recognition flickered across her features. "He sent you?"

"Yes," Fran said.

Link cocked an eyebrow as the old man pulled a red parchment out from under his tunic. The Princess glanced at it briefly, then nodded. Clearly Fran had received more than advice from the Sahasrahla.

"We must hurry, Princess Zelda," the old man said.

Her blue eyes flashed momentarily and at that very instant Link realised the significance of her pendant - etched on its silver surface were three small triangular shapes.

"My name," she said. "It's-"

"She's a _Harkinian?_" Link said, gaping.

The Princess turned to him, eyeing him with curiosity. "Yes," she said. "Why is that-"

"We will discuss this later, lad," Fran said with a glare. "Now is not the time."

Fran held out his hand and, after a moment's hesitation, the Princess took it. The quartet rushed out into the passageway. Pandemonium reigned; prisoners and guards clashing, blood flying and screams and shouts echoing. The guards, huddled together in the areas where the corridors expanded into chambers, fired arrows into the fray, the sharp snap of their weapons booming like cracks of thunder.

Eagle took the lead, ploughing through the surging crowd of humanity. Shrieks and maniacal laughter assaulted their ears. The Princess grimaced, but a steely light shone in her eyes. Hands tried to grab at them, tearing and scratching hungrily. Link felt the blood hammer in his head, the scenes of chaos before him turning his mouth dry. At that moment, Link decided that he very much wanted to live. He threw a glance behind him. Rya stayed at the rear, swinging her spiked sphere at anyone that dared to come too close. Many did. Many failed.

They turned around one corner, their boots slipping on a floor now wet with blood, and a prisoner lunged at them, his one eye bulging and his straggly hair slick with sweat. They froze. An arrow tore through the air and lodged itself into the prisoner's throat, instantly transforming his roar of triumph into a gurgling choke.

More prisoners pushed against them, babbling incoherently. They were caught in the tide, bobbing up and down on the waves of insanity. There was no room to move, no air for them to breathe, and everything felt hot, too hot. Wherever they turned they were met with scowling faces, dripping with hatred and half mad with the taste of freedom. The prisoners had been cooped up for too long. And now, with escape in their grasp, they were prepared to trample anyone and anything to reach the promised land outside.

Fran and Link glanced at one another. "I'm starting to think," the young Hylian said, "that this wasn't such a good plan after all."

...

The fire burned in her soul once more.

Sheik stood on the edge of a precipice that hung over the domed roof of the prison complex. The world below, a ghostly tableau of frost and scurrying people, looked tiny from this dizzying height. The glider hung to her back, heavy and awkward. She fingered the leather clasps around her shoulders, leaving behind streaks of sweat that hardened into ice almost instantaneously. Her chest felt tight, but apart from that, the frosty touch of fear hadn't touched her yet. She was too excited to feel scared.

"Missy," Carissa's voice called from beside her. "We cannot apologise enough. We are sorry that we couldn't help further."

"I don't _need_ your help," Sheik replied, without thinking. He blinked, then turned to the Calatian woman. "Thank you. All of you."

The old woman smiled. "May the One, Unseen go with you."

"And you," Sheik said politely.

She marvelled at her situation. Sadness and humility churned within as she considered the traders' action. _Good people_, she told herself once more. But they were Calatians, unaware of her ethnicity. What did it matter? Sheik was certain that Carissa and her friends would have treated her the same, regardless. Her conviction, though, wasn't strong enough for her to remove her face wrappings.

Hope calmed her heart. She needed the Princess; needed a rallying point by which everyone could see the truth of the Harkinian claim. But these Calatians - these simple, hard working people - they didn't deserve the ruthlessly violent methodology that Kafei had wanted her to pursue. They didn't deserve to die for who they were. If they could accept a Gerudo as their King, surely they could accept a Hylian as Queen?

Thoughts such as these cluttered her mind. All that Sheik knew was that she had to get her Princess back. From there, they could rebuild the shattered remnants of their cause, even if she didn't know how. And they would do it shedding the least amount of unnecessary blood as possible.

She took a step back, and paused to check if everything was ready. The traders had taken her to some nearby hills, just high enough so that she could fall without injuring herself, where she had practised with the glider before dawn. It was, she had to admit, a little frightening, but once she had launched herself into the air she had found her spirits soaring in euphoria in response to the sensation of flying.

Her newfound friends had also provided her with a set of silver, needle thin daggers, their razor sharp tips twinkling red in the morning sun. Where they'd found them, she didn't know and didn't ask. The knives were tucked away in her belt now.

"Do you need anything else, missy?" Carissa said, her voice thick with the concern that Sheik was now well familiar with. "Maybe a last minute practice flight?"

"No, I'll be fine," Sheik replied. "Tell everyone that I'm grateful for everything."

The Calatian nodded sagely.

Noises drifted up from below; urgent shouts, and the low moan of horns. Sheik frowned. "What's happening?"

Carissa sucked on her teeth. "A little bit of fortune, missy," she said, kicking at some soil and watching it disintegrate as it plummeted. "Looks like they're having a wee bit of a problem."

Sheik smiled, a light, tinkling laugh escaping from her fingers. It felt good to do that once again. "Then it appears," she said, confidence surging in her heart. "That I shouldn't waste any time."

Nodding, Carissa stepped to one side. Sheik dug her feet into the ground for an instant, tensed her muscles, then sprang forward and leapt into the abyss. The initial shock made her gasp, and she panicked slightly, flapping her arms. The wings of the glider fluttered in the wind, then became taut, floating in the air. Sheik grinned as she swooped down towards a thin metal platform that coiled around the dome.

She landed, running, her boots making the rusted surface shudder under her weight. The wings curled inwards automatically, so that the glider became nothing more than a convenient travel pack on her back. A guard appeared, mouth agape, but one swiftly hurled dagger brought him to his knees. She darted over to him, cracked her elbow to the side of his head, and sent him into inky unconsciousness.

Sheik frowned as she removed her knife from the man's shoulder. Why would there be guards up here?

The entire world split, losing colour and texture, then shattered, a cacophony of horrendous noise that assaulted her ears. She grit her teeth, biting back tears. It had returned.

_"Perhaps the guards are protecting something," the_ voice said. _"We should investigate, little one."_

"_I_ don't have _time," she_ spat angrily, feeling a little foolish that she was speaking to thin air. She hadn't let Kafei and the others tell her what to do, and she certainly wasn't going to let an apparition do so either.

She stomped towards an entrance hatch, her steps ringing out with a dull metallic clang. A small wooden construction caught her eye. A box, it's lid warped and rotted from the elements stood silently nearby. Curious, she stepped up to it and tested the handle. It was unlocked.

The musty stench of decay wafted up to her as she opened the lid. Grimacing, she peered inside, and saw small packets, wrapped in leaves. She brought one to her face, and sniffed.

"Powder," she said. "Explosive powder." She flipped the packet into the air, then caught it nimbly. She pulled back one of corner of a leaf, and the powder sizzled as it touched the air. "They've learned how to ignite it without using fire."

_"Perhaps this is what they were protecting."_

"Perhaps," she said, then quickly shook her head, not wanting to start a conversation with a ghostly voice. She spun away, thrusting the packet into her belt, and made for the entrance.

_"Wait._" The menace in its tone made Sheik freeze. There was something bubbling in the voice, some darkness that wanted to be set free. "**_He _**_is here!"_

...

The surging mob of the unwashed and the uncouth pushed onwards, grimy faces and broken teeth framing eyes burning with the hunger for revenge. Link and the others tried to stay together, but it was a futile task against this living ocean of hatred. Link desperately tried to grasp for his weapon, but his fingers kept slipping as he tried to find a sure footing.

In an instant they were separated; Fran, the Twins and the Princess pushed down one corridor, while Link was shoved into another. There was a briefest moment where the crowd ebbed slightly and he clutched at the opportunity. He fell back, rolled, then sprung to his feet, leaving the smallest of gaps between him and the oncoming prisoners.

A flash of metal in the distance caught his eye, and he saw that Eagle had found himself a pair of axes. Their eyes locked. A heartbeat passed, the rumble of feet upon rock ringing in their ears. Just before Link saw the others be swept away, Eagle threw one of the weapons.

Swiftly Link caught the whirling axe, glanced at it, then ground his heels into the floor, twirling. He spun in a wide arc, the blade clanging against the metal bars on either side. Sparks exploded into the air, hung for an instant like a shower of shooting stars, then rained down in glowing orange droplets, hissing. The fiery glow melted the gloom for a heartbeat, and the prisoners froze, shock and fear carved onto their faces.

Link didn't hesitate, taking quick advantage and flipping his crossbow into his free hand. Dropping the axe, he scooped a handful of arrows from his quiver and slot them into place. He fired again and again, his hand jerking from left to right, the red flower of the ignited powder blossoming a hundred times over. His foot crunched down on the axe's handle, launching it into the air, from where he plucked it into his hand. He turned, hooked his crossbow to his belt, and ran down the narrow corridors, tightly gripping the axe's grainy wooden hilt. Around one corner he went, then another; boots scraping against solid rock floors, and heart beating so hard that it threatened to burst.

Two prisoners, eyes bloodshot and drunk with the taste of blood, leapt out of the shadows. Link swung, grunting, the satisfying crack of steel against bone breaking his attacker's necks. He stepped past them as they dropped to the ground, limp. Another corner beckoned, but something made him stand his ground, a disquieting sensation that crept into his heart.

"Link." The voice drifted into the passageway.

The youngster's hand fell to his crossbow. "Jonah."

"What _are_ you doing?" his old friend replied with a chuckle. "Breaking into prisons. Causing havoc. You don't have to do this to impress the Commander. He already accepted you after your Test."

Link edged forward, his fingers tensing around his weapon. "What do you want?"

"I'm hurt," Jonah's voice floated back towards him. For a moment, he sounded almost genuine. "This isn't the way to greet an old friend. We _miss_ you. We cared about you."

Pressing his back against the cold rock, Link eyed the edge of the wall. "That would be _before_ you betrayed me, then?"

He spun around the corner, his weapon arm curling upwards. Jonah stood there, crossbow at the ready, one solitary tear dropping slowly down his face. Overhead, the roof of the prison curled into a dome, making this chamber far less stifling than the corridors. The two former friends, their faces still save for the odd twitch, faced each other, weapons aimed. For Link it felt as though all air had been sucked out of the building just then. Silence reigned.

"Listen," Jonah said at last. "It was a mistake." He licked his dry, cracked lips. "Come back to us." His eyes were pleading now, his hand trembling. "We'll explain everything." Slowly he lowered the crossbow, then stretched his arms wide, beckoning. The tone of his voice changed, as though coated with sugar. "Remember our vow? Remember what we said after we got lost in the Outlands? How we would always look out for one another? Brothers for eternity?" His eyes seemed to turn inward, as though he were reminiscing. "Little brother," he whispered with a smile. "Come back."

Link blinked once, twice. He sniffed, feeling his own hands start to shake. Thoughts whirled around his head, confusing, dizzying.

"Sorry," Jonah gasped. "We're so sorry."

His weapon arm dropped to his side and Link stepped forward, his lips quivering. Jonah sighed, a grin spreading across his face, and wrapped his arms around the young Hylian, squeezing tight.

The crimson flash of an ignited crossbow illuminated their faces, the passageway ringing with the crack of an arrow set free. Frozen in time, they stared at each other; both their faces a portrait of shock. A thin tendril of smoke curled up between them. Trembling heartbeats thumped. A ghost of a smile passed across Jonah's face.

"Thank you," Link said coldly as Jonah slumped to the floor. "For teaching me not to trust anyone ever again."

He looked down on his old friend, saw the arrow sitting snugly in Jonah's chest, and struggled to fight the conflicting emotions that were screaming to be set free from his heart.

Something flickered in the darkness. Link snapped to attention. A roar, twisted with fury, then Rivero appeared, bursting from the shadows, and slamming Link against the wall. The youngster's crossbow fell clattering to the ground, and the world started to spin. Link's eyes bulged as he saw the great bulk of muscle and bone bear down on him. Saliva flew from Rivero's mouth as his hand curled around Link's throat.

The world took on a scarlet hue, blood thumping in his ears and what felt like broken glass in his throat. Link was pinned against the wall, his feet kicking uselessly against thin air. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kisho step out, survey the scene distastefully, and then fix Link with a baleful glare. Link stared back. He'd once considered the Commander as a father to him. What a fool he had been. The young Hylian felt his muscles start to go limp, and could sense his heart struggle painfully to keep beating despite the lack of air.

Rivero bared his teeth, growled, then leaned forward, his hot breath stinging Link's face. "A man likes to take pride in his chosen profession," the big Calatian rumbled. "And you, boy, are a disgrace."

Gritting his teeth, Link began to choke out words. "You...are...not...much...better," he spluttered. He had thought that the sight of his old friends would have broken him; turned him into a quivering heap. But now that he was face to face with them, his heart was nothing more than a block of ice. Anger bubbled within. A defiant grin came to his face. "I...take...it...you follow...the _subtle_...school of thought...amongst assassins, then."

Rivero's growl grew into a snarl.

Link felt his breath start to dissipate; short, painful bursts that were like a knife in his throat, darting in and out. His lungs were burning and his body felt heavy. His eyes rolled, glad not to be able to see the triumphant smirk on Rivero's face. Just as the darkness was about to claim him, Link thought he saw a bird swoop in from above.

In a blur, the pressure around his neck was gone, and Link fell to the ground, gasping for air. His head whirled, his vision expanding and contracting in time with the laboured beating of his heart. He could sense a commotion nearby; could hear panicked shouts and angry curses. He scrabbled around in the ground, searching. Relief flooded his mind as his fingers touched the comforting cold steel of his crossbow.

Link looked up. Silver darts flashed through the air, slicing through his former teammates' tunics. They responded in kind, firing their crossbows wildly. The newcomer dodged the attacks, spinning and twisting, a strange winged contraption on his back. No, not _his_, Link realised, his heart leaping as he peered forwards. _Her._

"Sheik?"

Deftly she landed on the ground, ducked as two arrows screamed towards her, reached for her belt, turned, and then threw. The small object spun, before striking the far wall and erupting in an orange flash, sending rock and dust billowing into the chamber.

Link covered his eyes instantly, coughing as a wave of hot, grimy air washed over him. He looked up, saw Rivero and Kisho sprawled on the floor, and turned his attention to the girl, noticing the wings on her back once more. His eyes narrowed as he pulled himself upright. "Now," he said, reaching for his Glimmer capsule. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?"

He ran forward, seeing the dark, cloud filled sky through the opening Sheik had just made. Their eyes locked, but she offered no words. He hurled the capsule into the sky, where it erupted into the form of Bannock. The bird soared upwards for a heartbeat, wings flapping.

Link grinned as he heard Sheik gasp. "Come on," he said. Why he felt concerned, he didn't know, but he was gripped by the sense that it was the right thing to do. Besides, he owed her for saving his life. "We have to go."

Sheik turned away. "The Princess."

"She's with Fran," he said, his tone urgent. "She'll be safe."

The girl looked at him, confusion flashing in her eyes. "Who's Fran?" She blinked, shaking her head. "Wait...you know about the Princess?"

Link glanced back into the chamber and saw his two former teammates start to stir. In the distance the murmur of voices grew - more prisoners coming to the fray. "We don't have time." He jumped onto Bannock's back. The bird rocked slightly under his weight. "You won't get lucky a second time."

A frown stretching her face, Sheik looked from Link to the chamber, indecision sparkling in her eyes. Finally she snarled, throwing her winged contraption to the ground, and leaping onto the Glimmer Bird.

"Let's go," Link said.

Bannock swooped away from the prison, his leathery wings beating in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. A twinge of guilt pinched Link's heart. He'd left the others behind. Closing his eyes, he pushed it away. There was nothing he could have done about it. Going back would have meant certain death and, despite what Fran may think, he was not in favour of a heroic last stand.

Sheik began to speak, her words tripping over one another in a nervous torrent. "Don't go too far; we might need to go back. Let's find this friend of yours now. Quickly. The Princess...I need to make sure she's safe."

The wind whipped at their faces, scattering their hair. "Tell me," Link called, raising his voice above the din. "Do you trust me?"

He felt Sheik's eyes burn into his back. "No," she said bluntly.

Link smiled. "Good."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"I don't understand. We should stay _here?"_

Sheik was glaring at him, despite the calm, patient tone in her voice. Link turned away, not really wanting to wilt under her gaze.

"I think it would be wiser if we regrouped here and reconsidered our options," he said, looking up. Bannock, now safely back in his Glimmer capsule, had dropped them off in this clearing in the middle of a nearby forest, all tall tress sprinkled with frost. The Glimmer Bird had been both cryptic and eccentric in his reasoning - he said he had curiously 'sensed' that the area was important.

"What options?" she replied. He felt her eyes follow his every movement. "I can only see two. Either we all willingly go back, find your friend and therefore, find the Princess - or I _make_ you do it."

Link decided to take a sudden interest in the trees clawing out of the ground all around them. He looked up to see a canopy of branches, all entwined as though the trees were huddled together, cutting out all sunlight from above. The ground under his feet was soft and soggy, but he couldn't see what he was stepping on because of the thin layer of mist that clung to their ankles. Owls, or some sort of similar creature, hooted in the distance, sounding forlorn and ghostly. What a strange place for Bannock to have left them.

"We stay _right here_," he said, snapping a twig off a sapling and spraying fresh snow into the air. "We've had an exhausting time and we need to rest before we move on."

There was silence for a moment, before Sheik said softly: "You don't know, do you? You don't know how to find them!"

Link kicked at something in the mist. A hollow thud followed. "Of course I know. It's all a matter of tracking, patience and..." He caught a glimpse of Sheik's glinting eyes. "...well no, I don't really know."

The girl threw back her head and clenched her teeth, hissing. "I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with no idea where I am and what I'm supposed to do next."

Link shrugged. "Welcome to my world, dear."

Sheik's head snapped back towards him, her eyes bright with a spark of warning. "'Dear?'"

Glancing left and right, Link decided to step back to a safe distance. "Strumpet?"

A flash of metal and, in an instant, the girl was holding a dagger. Pulling back her arm, her eyes narrowed to slits, she prepared to aim it at the young Hylian. Her lips tugged, teasing a smile. Snow fell silently, merging into the mist.

"Wait, wait," Link said, letting his fury bubble once more and striding forward. "Don't point that thing at me. This is all _your _fault."

"Oh? How so?" Their voices sounded garbled as though something was sucking the air out of the area.

"Whoever this Princess is has cost me my friends and my chance to find my sister. _You _obviously know her since you're looking for her as well, though you won't tell me exactly why. If it weren't for you and your idiotic Princess, I would be..." He paused, considering his options. "...I would be much better off." He kicked at something again, and a small rock tore through the mist before being swallowed by the darkness.

Link frowned. Doubt trickled in his heart. He could have sworn that there was a tree behind Sheik a moment ago. Now, there was nothing but inky blackness. An icy chill breathed on his neck.

Sheik, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, held his gaze. "Why are you so angry?" she said, her voice still soft. "You weren't like this the last time I met you."

He turned away, forgetting all about the tree. "You don't know what I've been through." He was caught by a sudden surge from within, an ache that begged him to release all his pain to this girl. Deep inside, some childlike part of him hoped that she had the warmth that could ease the painful frost over his soul.

Her scornful snort wasn't what he was expecting. "You think you're the only one who suffers?" she said. A pause, and she took in a deep breath. Link closed his eyes, knowing recognising the gesture from both his sister and Fran - a sermon was coming. "You have to bear with whatever befalls you and make the best of it. You don't give in to your lower ...urges...that makes you no different from the animals. That's not being free, that's being weak. You have to rise above that."

Link blinked. The trees seemed to be have become more closely packed together, like fingers closing into a fist. It was as though they had all taken a step inward. "You're starting to sound like Fran." He felt an itch of irritation - who was she to lecture him?

"Well whoever this 'Fran' is," she replied quickly. "He must be a wise man." She paused as a bird fluttered overhead, disturbing the branches with a rustle. "The Elders in my family." She paused again, and Link caught the strain in her voice, as though she were in pain. He flicked a glance at her, but didn't let it linger. "The Elders...they once told me about a group of warriors - the Boneyard Warriors. They struggled against their own passions, fighting their anger, their greed, their lusts...until their souls were finally set free, reborn, luminous, what all of us were meant to be if we hadn't let ourselves be corrupted and twisted with petty things." Link stared at her, speechless, but impressed by the practised eloquence in her words. "They were unbeatable in battle...do you know why?"

"Go on," Link said, interested despite himself.

"Because they knew that once they had conquered themselves, nobody else could conquer _them_." Awe crept into her voice, and Link's heart couldn't help but respond to it. "They knew they had already defeated their worst enemies - their own egos. All that was left were true humans, selfless and holy - _heroes_."

The word set off a spring of conflicting feelings in Link's soul. Temptation taunted him - the very idea that he could be far beyond what he was now made his heart ache. It was only then that he realised how much he despised himself. Assassin. Murderer. He closed his eyes. "It sounds difficult."

"It is," she said. What was that - had he caught a hint of hope in her voice? Or was it passion? "But not impossible. You have to have faith and fight; purify your heart like iron scorched of impurities by a blacksmith."

"Is that so?" Link said, something cold and dead creeping into his voice. "Didn't I catch you _stealing_ when we first met?"

Anger laced both her eyes and her words. "You don't know me."

Their gazes locked for an instant and, for one bizarre pair of heartbeats, the world slowed, their eyes flashing. He felt something...something invisible, like the tightening of a chain. A sense of familiarity pricked at his thoughts, and something bubbled within him, burning the coldness away. It was an idea, a thought wrapped in hope - the idea that this girl before him _mattered _in a way that he didn't yet understand. For another heartbeat, he felt whole, complete, like he truly belonged, as though the One, Unseen had guided him to complete serenity. The feeling was exhilarating, almost intoxicating. And then it was gone, and he was shaking his head.

He gave a short laugh. "Make yourself useful," he said. "And try and find something we can use for shelter." He thought back to the horses and supplies Fran and the others had left back at the village. "We'll be needing food, too."

A gasp made him spin around. He caught a glimpse of Sheik's panic coated eyes. "What is-"

He saw it. The mist was rising, forming into misshapen fingers with wispy claws. All of a sudden Link and Sheik were face to face, the trees, black and gouged with deep, wrinkled grooves, pushing them violently together. Voices flittered from one side to another - gasps and sighs, a weeping woman; a man, howling with fear, his voice heavy with insanity. Link tried to look at his friend, tried to catch a sight of her wide, blue eyes, but in a blur she was gone.

Panic clouded his mind, spiking into his heart. The world turned upside down, everything moving ever so slowly. Colour vanished with a dull flash, leaving behind a burnt grey landscape. A statue stood, rock still, red eyes watching impassively. The mist parted, then reformed into another, more familiar shape. Link tried to open his mouth to scream in horror, but he felt smothered, as though in a dream. The shape hovering in front of him was his own head, grinning menacingly and dripping droplets of mist that flashed crimson, then went black.

The apparition of his head opened its mouth, and the voice that emerged was like the anguished screams of a thousand tortured souls speaking all at once. "..._Heart of darkness...one of you holds the heart of darkness..."_

Sheik appeared in front of him, her image fractured into a hundred parts. Voices spoke again; shouts, laughs, idle conversation - different facets from different times. The image of Sheik turned, her neck creaking as though unused for aeons, and faced him, a line of needle thin teeth arranged in a gruesome mockery of a smile. It spoke, a childlike voice that gradually became deeper and deeper. "..._a mountain of melancholy...The Sword of Velvet Night...shattered knight...shattered soul..."_

The world righted itself, save for the statue, and the real Sheik was beside him once more. One quick glance at her face told Link that she felt the same fear that he did. Her features - what he could see of them, anyway - had softened to an almost innocent visage. Instinctively his heart lurched, wanting to protect her. His fingers brushed against hers, but she pulled away, confused. He couldn't tell what had restrained her - modesty or fear? Still. He knew that perhaps he had taken too bold a step. There were still some lines that he was not allowed to cross, and the fact that he felt shame made him realise that he hadn't rid himself of his past as deeply as he had thought.

The statue made a noise, an echoing whisper of a sigh that faded into silence. A low growl rumbled from deep inside the effigy, then it's mouth split open in an evil grin. Blue sparks ignited, before an incandescent green halo appeared in the air, crackling from above and bathing them all in an emerald glow.

"Come with us," the statue said. "The Master wishes to speak with thee. Sacred Land, you step upon."

Link flipped his crossbow into his hand, Sheik doing the same with her weapons.

"Who are you?" the girl said, strength flooding into her voice. Link was impressed with her once again, this time at how quickly she had regained her composure. "What do you want with us?"

The statue disappeared. Link felt cold droplets of sweat trickle down his forehead. The two friends looked at each other warily, silent except for the mournful hooting of a distant owl.

Link jumped as he felt a presence by his shoulder, cold breath sighing against his face. "Your parents," the statue said. "They would have wished this."

The young Hylian spun around angrily. "What do you know of my -" But the strange creature had gone.

"Your parents, your ancestors...the Master will tell thee." The voice was coming from below them now, as though the mist itself could talk. Come with us, we shall show you the way."

Link flexed his fingers around the trigger of his crossbow, his gloves crackling from the movement. Curiosity wanted him to plunge onward, to see what this creature knew and wanted. Caution held him back, however. Still. If it had wanted them harmed, it could have done so by now.

He looked at Sheik. "What do you think?"

The girl folded her arms across her chest, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I say we stay _right here._"

Link grinned. "Exactly."

...

Sparkling sunlight washed the streets as they made their way down the cobbled, dusty pathways, their boots tapping against stone, their shoulders hunched against the cold. Hushed conversations and the charred, mouth-watering smell of roasted meat hung in the air all around them, warm reminders of a close-knit community. The people paid no attention to them, busy with their daily duties, laughing, scowling, or just cocooned in self-absorption as they weaved in and out of the small, grey structures that passed for buildings in this town. Stonewall Village, Fran realised, reminded him a lot of his old hometown of Lon Lon.

They were all dressed in cloaks and hoods now, hoping to stay hidden, though Eagle, because of his size, did attract a few curious glances. The big man had been instrumental in their escape. Like a battering ram of muscle, he had ploughed through the guards and prisoners, while the rest of them had followed in his wake. Cracking heads like they were Deku Nuts, he had worked the portcullis, opening it so that they could flee, before he himself had scattered the incoming guards that stood between them and the open air.

Fran still felt a touch of awe at the memory. He wondered what they would have done if the Bounty Hunter had not been there. How lucky for them, but Fran had long since given up believing in 'luck'. Whatever it was that guided their movements, it always seemed to cast a somewhat protective eye over them and had been very generous in its aid. He hoped it would last.

The Princess stood apart from them, head bowed and arms folded. "This _is_ troubling," she said, her voice weighty with sadness.

"An understatement, Your Highness," Fran replied. Despite the colour of her eyes and hair she looked little like the Princess Zelda that he had known. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth towards her. She was a familiar anchor in what was still, for him, an unfamiliar world.

"Sahasrahla's message mentions that the Cycle has begun," she continued, raising a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "My family had prepared me for this moment since the day I was born." She shivered, and Fran knew it was not from the cold. "But I didn't expect things to take so drastic a..." She shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. "My family are now..." Her voice broke, and she was unable to finish.

Fran pursed his lips, resisting the urge to cradle her as though she were his daughter. He looked ahead and decided that it would be better if he could keep them all focused. "We'll take the long way round to Sahasrahla," he said, his tone businesslike. "I'm sure he will know what to do next."

"It is not good..." Eagle rumbled from behind them

"...to place so much trust in one person," Rya finished.

The Princess shifted her face under her hood so that she could address them. Her eyes glistened from within. "Why are you two still with us?" she said, without malice. "Fran led me to believe that all you want is payment."

Eagle grunted. "He hired us to rescue you...

"...and keep you safe," his sister said.

Fran cocked an eyebrow. There was a hint of stiff pride in their voices.

"It would not be honourable to desert you..." Eagle said.

"...when your safety has not yet been ensured."

The Princess turned away, dodging little children that scampered into her path, oblivious to all around them. Her face hardened into something indecipherable when she saw them, though her mouth did stretch into a tight smile. "If we can find a local Treasury," she said. "I'm sure I can supply some funds to compensate you for your troubles." This time her voice was hard. She swallowed, before continuing, "It isn't much, let me warn you now. It was meant to be a reserve for my relatives." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Little good that will do now."

"We understand, Mistress," Eagle said.

"We thank you," Rya added.

Nodding slightly, the Princess leaned closer to Fran, trying to make herself heard in amongst the laughing and the shouts of the traders as they let everyone know of their prices in booming voices. "So, who is the enemy?" she said. "The Gerudo King?"

Fran twitched, licking his lips. The Princess' voice was becoming increasingly bitter, as though all sense of warmth were being torn from it. She was sounding less and less like 'his' Zelda by the minute. "I don't think so," he said. "I believe our enemy is Hylian."

Her eyes widened for a heartbeat, froze, then reverted back to a passive calm almost instantly. She offered no comments.

Not sure how to phrase his thoughts, Fran bit the inside of his cheek. "Did anyone survive?" he asked, the awkwardness in his voice making him blush. He hissed inwardly. An old man, he was, and he should be beyond the point where anyone or anything could embarrass him.

The Princess closed her eyes. "No, I don't think so," she said. "There were two of us. One escaped, but I watched them shoot her in her tracks." Her cheeks clenched, and her skin took on a tint of rose. "What happened to your friend?"

The old man blinked, caught off by the sudden change of subject. Fear stroked his heart as he thought about Link. "He's a resourceful young lad," he said slowly. "I'm sure he escaped. He _must_ have escaped."

The Princess raised an eyebrow, walked on in silence for a moment, then spoke in a careful tone: "Is he the one?"

"We believe so," Fran answered, without hesitating.

"Interesting," she replied. Another heartbeat of silence, the hustle and bustle of the town melting into the background. "His weapon. The way he reacted to me. He seems to be one of the King's assassins."

Fran opened his mouth, but he couldn't find the appropriate words. His heart drummed in his chest, though he was mildly impressed by her perceptiveness.

She raised a hand. "No, no explanations," she said with a sigh. The Princess looked at the three of them, and finally a genuine smile spread across her face. "Let's find Sahasrahla. And let's hope he has the answers I seek."

...

Sheik awoke, her heart pounding. She glanced around their small campsite, noticing the last glowing embers of their fire floating away into darkness. Somewhere nearby, she could hear Link snoring softly. She smiled, not really knowing why that comforted her heart. The trees had - somehow - parted, revealing a pathway, at the head of which stood the statue, silent, cold, and waiting for their decision. They were in no hurry to find one.

She stood, instinctively hugging herself from the chill. What had woken her?

Taking a few steps in the darkness, she could faintly see the mist swirling around her ankles. She let her gaze wander, letting it rest upon Link for a moment, before looking away. A whirl of emotions buffeted her mind. Who was this young man? Why was she compelled to stay with him?

She recalled their conversation earlier on, remembered the hollow pain she saw in his eyes - eyes that looked empty and pinched, as though they were black coals being forced to stay in place. Her instincts flooded back to her, the desire to ease another's hurt, though she bitterly wished she wouldn't be distracted by it. There were more important things for her to worry about than a young man's turmoil. She glanced at him one last time, saw him shift wordlessly on the ground, and sucked on her teeth. A thought soared in her heart that made her fell both strangely giddy and elated. He was important. She didn't know why, but something told her he was.

Shaking her head, she let out a tired breath. Such silly thoughts. She felt the crunch of seeds under her boots, leftovers from their only meal.

They had found the berries earlier on in the evening, enough to still the clawing pangs of hunger, but not enough to completely remove them. She was used to be being hungry, though. Still. She felt like something to eat now, if only to have something to do. Scanning the area with squinted eyes, she seaaaaaakkkg lhlhlhll..vggghhhhhh kkjjllglggggggggggggggggggggg...

...

..._and he awoke, a Conquerer. Flames burned in all around him, curling into the sky and illuminating his face. Victory was in his grasp, sweet like honey and fresh milk, and he would not let it go. They chanted his name - he couldn't tell whether it was out of fear or love. He didn't care. The land was his, and power pulsed in veins, making him restless. He had to use it. Display it for all to see. All who had opposed him had now been crushed, ground under his foot into dust._

_Except for small pathetic pockets of resistance. One such rebel leader was brought forward now, cowering in fear. Good. That was the way it should be. The people watched, waiting expectantly. He would not let them down. The rebel looked up at him, straightening his shoulders in one final act of defiance. The fool._

_Slowly he drew his sword, letting the metallic slither ring out in the chamber. He waited for one heartbeat, teasing the crowd. Then he swung, a neat slice straight through the rebel's head. Blood gushed into the hair like a fountain, coating his cloak and face in sticky, crimson fluid. Some of the onlookers fainted. Others gagged. All of them were wide eyed with shock._

_Throwing back his head, he laughed and laughed and laughed. It shook his massive frame, and he could feel the Power surge up from within. The onlookers scattered, screaming. But all this did was to make him bellow even harder, a louuuuughh heeeeegghhjj lllgggzz..._

_..._

...Sheik fell to her knees, gasping for air. She scrabbled about, desperately searching for something to hold onto, her pain-wracked mind begging to know that she had returned to reality. She glanced down at herself, half dreading the image that she thought she would see - an image of her covered in blood. But there was nothing there, except her own body.

The world spun. The vision had been so vivid, so real. Head lowered, fists clenched, and gritting her teeth, she fought against the hot stab of pain beating against her head. Her body shook, wanting to retch, but she held it in. She would not be weakened by the apparition, she _would not. _Before it had been nothing more than a disembodied voice, but this - she had no words for it.

Hot tears stung her eyes, and she began shuddering, a slow tremble that grew into violent convulsions. As the sweet release of sleep swallowed her once more, only one thought followed her down into the darkness: what was happening to her?


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Warm sunlight prodded at Link's face, pulling him back to wakefulness. He was grateful for that. The image of Jonah's shocked face faded away from his mind, the last vestiges of a disturbing dream that he knew would be returning to him time after time. He rolled over on the ground, his body stiff and sore from being in one position for far too long. He felt the twigs from his makeshift bedding snap and crackle as he moved; smelt the tangy scent of the earth float up towards him. Slowly he opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of a morning sky washed freshly blue and populated by sluggish clouds dyed scarlet from the rising sun.

He blinked, stretched, then blinked again, trying to keep the heaviness from his eyes. Turning, he sought out his friend. What he saw jolted him fully awake.

Sheik sat against a tree, hugging her legs. Her eyes, cloaked with a dull sheen, were bloodshot and her skin pale. Head slumped to one side, she stared out into the distance, seemingly lost to the outside world.

His heart hammering painfully in his chest, Link leapt to his feet, ignoring the sudden chill that struck his skin. He ran over to her, dread rising in his chest, and jumped over the jagged edges of rock that peeked out from the wan mist. Skidding to a halt in front of her, Link crouched. Gently, he reached out with his hand, his throat tight with tension. Remembering what happened the last time he tried to touch her, he drew back, swallowing, rubbed his chin in thought, then reached out again. Sheik showed no reaction, betrayed no indication that she even noticed he was there, and his fingers curled into a fist just under her chin. Tears pricked his eyes, and the sensation surprised him.

Link cleared his throat. "Sheik?" he asked softly. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

He almost jumped when she blinked. "I…" she said, finally fixing her gaze upon him. "I couldn't sleep." A smile touched her lips, but it didn't linger. "Nightmares."

Relief made Link's shoulders sag. The hollow tone to Sheik's voice, though, touched his heart with a disquieting twinge. Drawing himself upright, he scanned the branches above him, seeing only the frost-coated stems sparkling in the sunlight. He made his way back to his bedding, then picked up his crossbow that was resting on a nearby outcropping.

Sheik watched him impassively. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice still thick.

Link flicked a concerned glance towards her. "I'm going to go hunting," he said, checking his weapon. The metal was deathly cold and his fingers stuck briefly to its surface. "You need some proper food." He smiled. "I can live fine on berries."

The corner of Sheik's mouth tugged gently. "You're going to go hunting?" she said. "For me?"

He heard the trace of amusement in her voice, and almost wanted to spit out a vehement denial. He held himself back, though, relieved that a semblance of normality was returning to her actions. "Yes," he said simply, smiling.

Sheik stood, returning the gesture in kind. "My," she said, the lightness in her tone clear now. "You're full of surprises for a young boy." Obviously noticing that he was about to make a heated retort, she raised her hands. "Ah," she said. "Young _man_, I mean." She laughed, and Link felt his heart flood with warmth in response.

Taking in a deep breath, Sheik continued. "I'm not hungry, Link," she said. "But thank you for your concern."

The young assassin strode towards her, puffy clouds of powdered snow spraying up from under his boots. He fixed his gaze upon her face. "You have to eat," he said, trying to keep his voice in check so that he wouldn't sound too insistent. "You need your strength. Look at you." His eyes studied her from tip to toe. "You look drained, tired. I don't want you making yourself sick." Deep inside, he realised how much he sounded like his sister with those words.

Sheik's cheek twitched. "I can take care of myself," she said softly. "And, _again_, thank you." She sniffed. "You don't have to worry about me."

The churning tumult in Link's soul forged itself into something solid. Clarity came to his mind, and steel to his voice. "I lost my sister," he said, a yawning hollowness opening up in his heart as he spoke. He saw Sheik move to say something, but he cut her off with an intense look. "I don't want to lose my friend as well."

Her eyes widened slightly as she kept her gaze level. Link saw her cheek tremble, and noticed the muscles in her neck tense as she struggled for something to say. A crimson flush blossomed over her face. Clearing her throat noisily, she turned away, deciding instead to look at the statue that still stood in silence. "What do we do about him?" she asked.

Link sighed. "I say we've kept his 'master' waiting long enough," he said. "Let's see what it wants."

"Do you think it's safe?"

"I don't know," Link replied. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as they walked over to the creature. "It seems to know who I am, though."

Sheik looked down at the statue. "It appears to be asleep."

Link kicked it, and it's ruby eyes flickered open.

Arching an eyebrow, Sheik smiled, muttering, "Remind me never to sleep longer than you."

The young Hylian ignored her, focusing his attention on the statue. "Let us in."

"As you wish," the creature replied. "The Master awaits."

With a low rumble, the statue shifted aside, shuddering as it moved. The mist parted, and a dusty path appeared, twisting its way through the trees and fading into the distance.

Sheik stepped forward, but Link held out an arm. "Wait," he said. After a heartbeat, he continued, "Are you sure you won't eat anything?"

His friend kept her gaze firmly on the path ahead, as though not wanting to acknowledge his presence. "I'm sure," she said testily. "Let's go?"

She trotted ahead quickly, not waiting for him to reply. After a moment's pause, Link followed her in.

A blanket of near silence fell upon them, relegating distant sounds to a muffled echo that sounded eerie and dreamlike. Something cawed somewhere, though no creature appeared to claim it. Leaves, wrinkled and stained chestnut brown, rustled out of their way. And yet, they could feel no breeze, no familiar tug of the wind at their clothes. A light dew prickled their skin, and the scent of rose and freshly cut grass made for a heady mixture in the air, despite that fact that they could see no evidence of either.

"Tell me," Sheik said as they traversed the path. Her voice came across as muted, as though stifled by a damp cloth. "You think you can hit…oh… that branch over there," she said, pointing, "with your fancy crossbow?"

Link grinned in response, remembered the game they had played back on the rooftops of the city. "You want me to beat you again?"

Her eyes arched. "I don't recall you winning," she said, a smile in her voice. "Confident as always." Her mask creased, and Link guessed that she was smirking. "And misguided."

"I let you win," the young man replied. "Next time, I won't."

Sheik snorted. "_Next _time."

"Not now," he said. "Let's see where this leads us."

"Excuses," Sheik said, barely hidden glee glinting in her eyes. She hesitated, as though steeling herself for something distasteful. "What happened," she said, "to your sister?" She turned to him, and added quickly: "If I can ask, that is."

"You can," Link said. A whirl of emotion bubbled in his heart, at the centre of which was a pool of despair waiting to suck him in. "They tried to make me kill her." He sensed Sheik's shocked silence and chewed on his lip. "You have to understand," he said, stopping short and clenching his fists. "I would _never_ hurt her, never." His eyes bore into hers, his hands shaking. Voice dropping to a whisper, he continued, "I would rather die first."

There was an awkward silence for a moment. Sheik gazed at him, her thoughts unreadable. "I believe you, Link," she said softly. There was still an uncertain undercurrent to her voice. "I don't know why, though." She laughed, probably more at herself than at him. "You sound very sincere." Gazing at the ground for a moment, she added, "So. She's alive?"

"Yes," he replied, not able to keep his voice cracking from the twin pulls of hope and despair. "I have to find her. But don't know how."

"I see." Sheik continued to study the ground. "She's very lucky to have a brother like you."

Finally Link realised what she was hinting at. "My sister. My friends," he said. "They'll all receive the same loyalty from me."

"And your friend Fran?" she asked.

Link opened his mouth to speak, then frowned. Too many demands were being placed on him. Too many responsibilities. And for a silly, childish moment, he had thought that he'd become free from all of that. He sighed inwardly. He would never truly be free. "I'll go where life takes me," he said simply.

Sheik nodded, lapsing into silence and her own thoughts.

Link froze. A sleek, black blur scuttled into their path, flashed a pair of pale azure eyes, then disappeared, swallowed by the thick undergrowth. Exchanging a puzzled glance with Sheik, he walked on, confused. The trail narrowed, winding this way and that, before finally coming to a stop at the mouth of cavern. Something chirped nearby, a rhythmic clicking that came in short bursts. Once again, they saw nothing.

All of a sudden, Link felt a change in the air around him. He heard a low whistle, as though something was dropping out of the sky. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of a thick vine, appearing seemingly from nowhere and covered in thick prickles, swing down towards him. His mouth opened in shock, and his hand jerked up uselessly. Time and space seemed to contract and everything moved far too slowly.

A flash of polished metal flew past his eye, and Link saw Sheik's dagger split the vine neatly in two. Breathing heavily, his head still spinning, Link watched as the severed stem swung harmlessly past him. He glanced up at the girl. "Thank you," he gasped.

A smile danced in her eyes as she looked at him. "You're welcome." This time she didn't look away.

She gestured at the cavern. "Shall we?"

Link nodded, smiling, and stepped inside. Darkness smothered them for a heartbeat, before the tunnel widened out into a large cavern. Warm, musty air enveloped them, bringing heat back to their chilled skin. Leaves carpeted the ground, crunching under their boots. More fell from the ceiling, twirling slowly in a mass of deep greens and pale yellows before coming to rest on the ground. A pool lay at the centre, shimmering in the light, waves lapping softly at the edge.

The two friends looked around in awe. The entire cave – from the ground, to the walls, and the ceiling, too – seemed to have been constructed entirely from wood bark. Auburn walls, lined and cracked with age, stared back at them silently. The clicking that they had heard from the outside was amplified here, a low buzzing that would flash with activity one moment, then stay still the next. Link felt something flicker in his heart, and he raised his eyes to the ceiling. There was something…odd…about the pattern that was etched up there. It was all bulges and crevices, as opposed to the relatively even nature of the rest of the cavern.

A shimmer of movement caught his eyes. Eyes narrowed, Link strained his neck as he peered upward.

With a laboured creak, two small sections of the ceiling split open, revealing a pair of yellow orbs. Link heard Sheik gasp beside him as a sudden thought came to him. His heart caught in his chest. Those weren't orbs. They were eyes.

"Welcome," a voice rumbled from above. "I…am the Great Deku Tree."

...

Montero rested his head against one dirt-encrusted wall of the cell, watching the torchlight hiss from the passageway outside. Imprisoned with him were his father and the Hylian traitor. Ganondorf slept softly, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Kafei stood at the cell door, clutching the rust stained bars. He peered out at the other cubicle where the women were being held.

Anju, Impa and the other Hylian, Mystral – her name flashed in his mind – were huddled in the centre trying to sooth the baby's wailing. The little one was coughing violently, his wheezing breath constant. It annoyed Montero immensely.

"Can you not shut the infernal thing up?" he spat.

Angry eyes glared back at him. "He's sick," the traitor's wife said. "We need to get out of here."

Montero glanced around, his chains clinking. "Slightly difficult, I'm sure you'll agree," he said, waving his hand. "It might be more merciful for him if you finished him now." He grinned. "Permanently."

Kafei whirled around. "Do not speak of my son in that fashion."

Before the King could reply, Mystral's soft voice cut in. "Do you have no ounce of kindness in your heart?" Montero grit his teeth. The woman's preaching was as irritating as the baby's crying. He watched as she turned to Impa. "How can you serve a soulless creature like that?"

Impa froze, her mouth gaping. Her lips flapped as she worked to find a retort, but nothing came.

"Sssh," Anju said. "Bickering amongst ourselves will achieve nothing."

"Indeed." They all turned to the sound of Ganondorf's voice as he pulled himself upright. "We must work together." He glanced at his son and Montero felt a sudden coldness in the pit of his stomach. He knew where this was going. "I'm sure the King will apologise for his words."

Montero felt his face flush with anger. All eyes were upon him now; Kafei's in particular cradling a knowing smirk.

"Come now," Ganondorf continued. "We have bigger concerns to vent our fury on."

The King sniffed. "I apologise," he mumbled.

Kafei snorted, but Anju kept her eyes averted. Mystral's face remained passive, while Impa had decided to take a sudden interest in the floor.

"What," Mystral said finally, addressing Ganondorf, "do we do?"

The old Gerudo, his copper eyes flashing from within the near darkness, leaned forward. "I need to know how much this… 'Servion' knows." His voice took on a sour coat. "It seems my son has kept many things from me."

Angry again at being humiliated, Montero hissed, shifting on the grimy floor. "He knows what I know," he said quickly. "About the Triforce. About everything."

Ganondorf studied him carefully. "Is there a girl?"

"What?" the King said, confused. "This is no time to pry into my~"

"No, you fool," Ganondorf said, scowling. "Does he know of any girl?" He paused. "A Princess."

Montero blinked. "Yes," he said. "A Harkinian Princess. We have her locked up." He sucked his teeth. "Or, at least, we did."

Ganondorf moaned, and ran a trembling hand through his hair. "She's alive," he whispered. "She's real."

The earlier serenity that he had acquired when confronting Servion now completely vanishing, the King's face creased into a frown. "Who is she?" he barked. "Why is she so important? Even the Hylian Chief considered her important."

His father ignored him, choosing instead to turn to Impa. "You knew?" he asked. "And you didn't tell me?"

Impa shrugged, her eyes wide. "I didn't think anything of it," she said quickly. "I thought she was a myth. I didn't think there was a connection."

"Who _is_ she?" the King said.

"Yes," Kafei added, genuine curiosity lacing his voice. "Why is my Princess important to you?"

Montero laughed, glad to have gained some sort of upper hand. "Oh," he snorted. "So, it's '_my_ Princess' now, is it?"

The traitor snarled, his mouth curling.

"Calm yourselves," Ganondorf called, easily reverting to the deep tones of his 'royal' voice. He looked at Mystral. "You," he said. "What is it he wants from you?"

"He wants nothing important," the Hylian replied, a bitter edge to her voice. "He took my brother from me."

The old man's copper eyes seemed to turn inwards as he reflected. "I see," he said. "Come. No doubt my son and Impa know this tale already." He looked at all of them. "But it is best that we all know what is happening. And what exactly is at stake here." He glanced at baby Hobert as the little one spluttered again. Licking his lips, Ganondorf continued, "Let me tell you a tale," he said. "The tale of the Great Cycle."

...

"What _is_ it?" Sheik's hushed voice floated over towards him and, in some distant corner of his mind, Link noticed that she had shuffled a little closer to him.

"I _believe,_" Link muttered, his eyes not leaving the wizened face that peered down at him, "that it's a talking tree."

"Link," the gravely voice boomed, reverberating around the cavern. "You have finally come."

The young Hylian stepped forward. He felt a weight lift from his side and, at that instant, he realised that Sheik had been clutching to his arm. For some reason, his heart trembled at the thought. Pushing his confused musings away from his mind, he turned his attention back to the Tree. "I have," he said. "Who are you? How do you know me?"

The Tree stirred from above, stretching its face forward. A wooden groan rumbled, and flecks of wood split off from the ceiling, spinning into the air. Link swallowed, and wondered whether the whole bizarre thing would collapse on top of them. Moving on instinct, he stepped in front of Sheik, only to find, to his mild surprise, that _she_ had already placed herself protectively in front of _him_. There was no time for him to dwell on that, though, as the creature spoke again.

"Tell me, young Link," the Tree said. "Do you know of the legend of Zelda?"

Link thought he saw Sheik flinch at the mention of that name. He looked her closely, but her posture remained serene. Perhaps he had just imagined it. He realised that his questions had not been answered, and so he said, "I don't. But I don't see what it has to do with me."

"Oh," the Tree rumbled, amusement apparent in its tone. "It has _everything_ to do with you."

Link took in a deep breath. He decided it would be best to humour the creature. "Explain."

The Tree's withered mouth creaked slowly into a smile, sending more splinters shooting into the air. "Long ago, when the world was still in its infancy, when the trees were cloaked forever with green, when spirits and men spoke freely and when tidings came from above to guide the wise, there lived two races. They were the Nonag and the Kiln. They stained the earth with blood in their constant battles, they frightened off the peace loving spirits of the netherworld and they invited the wrath of the Unseen because of their murderous ways. And they fought only for one thing. They fought out of desire to possess a girl.

" A girl named Zelda to be exact. Devout and kind, she held within her the keys to Courage, Wisdom and Power – a reward for her piety. She tied all these fragments together with the bind of Love; a love that she freely spread to anyone in distress. The Nonag and the Kiln knew that whichever one of them could install her as a sovereign would secure a prosperous future.

"She fled in fear, her heart heavy with the burden thrust upon her. Two followed her, aiding her in her escape. A Thief from the Nonag and a Warrior from the Kiln. Over time, the trio grew very close. Neither of the men desired her because of her inherent qualities, no. Inside both their hearts there burned a flame of love. Both wished intensely to wed her.

"The Thief had once snatched an old woman's necklace under the cover of the night. Stepping out from the shadows, Zelda had confronted him. Realising who she was, and fearful of her power, the Thief was forced to return the ornament. He waited, knowing that she would inflict a grievous punishment upon him. In return, however, Zelda rewarded him with a sum of rupees that was thrice the cost of the item he had stolen. It was then that he was smitten.

"The Warrior was one beset with doubts as to the validity of his calling. Once, on a raid, his commanding officer had demanded him to slaughter a group of children. Seeing their fear paralysed faces, he was unable to complete his task, much to the scorn and belittlement of his fellow fighters. Zelda, however, had been watching from a distance. When he was alone, she spoke to him, saying simply: 'You chose the right path.' The relief this brought to his soul was immense, and he, too, became besotted.

"The war raged on, and many died on both sides. It was then that the Warrior came to a conclusion that shook him to his core. In order for the bloodshed to end, he reasoned, Zelda must die. With a heavy heart, he made his way to her hiding place, carrying nothing but a poison tipped blade. The Thief, however, had not been idle. He had also came to the same conclusion. And he knew that his rival would, too. Hiding himself, he waited for the Warrior to approach.

"Zelda came out that day, dressed in her best. She whistled to herself, completely unaware of the Warrior stealthily sidling up behind her. She started singing, a tune about lost love and broken hopes. The Warrior raised his sword, his heart thundering. At that moment, her beloved's name came to her lips, and the Warrior froze, recognising it as his own.

"His fingers trembling, he could not bring himself to strike. But the Thief, on the other hand, had no such scruples. He burst out from the shadows and brought the Warrior to the ground. Zelda turned and saw only two things. One, the Warrior was going to kill her. And two, the Thief had saved her. The look of disappointment that she gave the Warrior shattered his heart in two, and his grief became a tangible thing, seeping into his sword and turning it black.

"The Thief and Zelda were quickly wed. When news reached the Nonag, they elevated the Thief to the position of King. And thus, they finally gained possession of the treasure that they had so desperately sought. The evil that had lain dormant within the Thief was now set free, and he brought all the other people, the Kiln in particular, under his heel. Racked with horror and grief, Zelda fled again, this time taking her newborn with her.

"The people suffered and the land withered and died. The Warrior, now long dead from a broken heart, was not forgotten, and his tale reached the ears of the oppressed. Once they realised that he had had the power to end their suffering they sought out his grave and spat on the headstone. Some, though, had hearts that were more bitter and brittle. Learning the arts of forbidden magic they placed a curse on the Thief, the Warrior and Zelda herself. They reasoned that if they were to suffer, then all others would suffer with them.

"The Thief, his soul would not die. The Warrior, though he had passed forever into the afterlife, would find his features and qualities recreated every one hundred summers with a male member of the Kiln. Zelda's descendents would bear the brunt of her curse. Like the Warrior, another 'Zelda' would be born, with the exact same features and qualities as her own, again after the passing of a hundred summers. The Nonag became the Gerudo, the Kiln became the Hylians and the Warrior – his name was Link."

The assassin shuffled his feet, the Tree's vivid words scorching themselves onto his heart. His mouth was dry and he swallowed, struggling to bring some moisture to his tongue. "Assuming what you say is true," he said, his voice awed. "I…am this Warrior?"

"No," the Tree replied. "You are not the same person. Once someone enters the afterlife, they can never return. No, you are but an echo of him. You only share in his name and features. You are your own person."

"And every hundred summers…?"

"The trio would rise again to battle. Every time the evil would be defeated." He paused, a crestfallen expression washing over his face. "But many would suffer and die in the process. The Thief's lust for power did not diminish, though his love for Zelda faded away into a distant memory."

"It's not fair!" Sheik cried, interrupting. Link glanced at her, noticed her trembling jaw. "Why should others have to suffer for the actions of a person long dead?"

The Tree's yellow eyes turned to her. "The people that placed this curse had no such scruples. Their punishment in the afterlife will be severe. Dabbling in forbidden arts always has its consequences."

"And what about the here and now?" Link asked. Some part of him, the part ingrained with his cynical assassin training, mocked him for taking the Tree's words so seriously. Another part of him pulsed with curiosity, eager to burst free. "How is this…curse…broken?"

"For centuries myself and my predecessors lived a lie," the Tree continued. "Every time the Chosen reappeared we told him what he needed to do to halt the evil. We never once told him how to end the Cycle. The knowledge that was passed down to us referred to a specific time when the situation would be ripe for such an undertaking. Hundreds of summers passed. The evil returned, sometimes as himself, sometimes subtly controlling others to do his work, though they realised it not."

Link hissed impatiently. "Get to the point."

"The time would come," the Tree said, not missing a beat. "When the parents of the Chosen would _know_ the time was right. They would then seek out a sage to assist them." A heartbeat passed as his gaze returned to the young Hylian. "Your parents sought me out, Link. They told me of the visions that afflicted them. It was then that I knew it was time." The Tree's face inched forward, and a spray of leaves spilled from the ceiling. "It was I who brought you here. I planted the suggestion in your Glimmer Bird's mind."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Link said, his mind whirling from all this new knowledge. "You said yourself that you lied to the others."

The Tree paid him no heed. "You must break the Cycle once and for all, Link. You must free the world from that which has poisoned it. The Warrior's sword still exists in a hidden City of Gold to the north where Death Mountain once stood. You must retrieve it and put right what went wrong all that time ago, finish what was started at the dawn of time."

"I have to find this 'Zelda's' descendent," Link said, realisation creeping across his heart. "And slay her?"

"That is correct," the Tree said. "Once it is done, the evil will vanish forever."

"One life for many," the Hylian replied. Instantly, his heart grew cold, a web of frost brought on by his assassin training. He knew now why he had been the one chosen to finish the curse. "Makes sense."

"Take Zelda to the City of Gold." The Tree's voice was cracking, as though sagging under a burden of guilt and grief. "And end her life."

"Where is she?" Link asked.

He stumbled as a low rumble echoed through the cavern. The ground shook, disturbing the pool and sending leaves flying. The Tree's face seemed to collapse in on itself for an instant, then billowed out, sending a gust of air into the cave. Link held up an arm as a torrent of leaves engulfed him, scratching at his face and whispering in his ears. He tried to seek out Sheik, but her form was lost in the deluge.

Finally, it ended, the leaves, one or two of them sticking to Link's tunic, coming to rest. He sensed that something was different. Looking around, he couldn't quite see exactly what it was.

Then it hit him.

Sheik stood open-mouthed, the bandages that masked her face peeled away, her long, golden hair flowing behind her and her crystal-blue eyes sparkling. Link's heart lurched.

"Welcome," the Great Deku Tree said. "Princess Zelda."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Servion Boarhound knelt down in the darkened chamber, the uneven stone surface biting into his knees. Ahead of him, etched into the ground, was the shape of a triangle, a scented candle at the head of each point casting a trio of incandescent halos onto the floor. The sound of music floated in from an adjacent room, light, tinkling strings overlaid with a low, mournful tune. It always helped to have melody playing whenever he met with the Holy. It soothed his soul and stilled his nerves.

Still. Today he felt a little less apprehensive. He reflected on his situation as he waited for the Holy to arrive. The city was completely under Hylian control, the flawless execution of a plan that had been months in the making. The King was in his custody, and Link was, as far he knew, indisposed. He even had Mystral under his thumb, though he'd been unable to wed her. Twitching, he let the idea slip from his mind. There were plenty of other women.

His hand curled around the Triforce of Courage hanging from his neck, his fingers tracing the strange markings carved into its surface. Such a small thing. Such a strange thing. Necklace clinking as he rolled the Triforce around, Servion's mind drifted back to when the Holy had spoke about the three mysterious artefacts. It had told him that the Triforce had been forged from within the heart of someone pure, then blessed by the Divine to be used to draw blessings from Above. Many myths had grown around it, many tall tales. Servion smiled. One of three artefacts of immense influence and he had it in his grasp.

Yes, he thought. After all he had accomplished he should be feeling content. There was, he had to admit, a little warmth of satisfaction in his heart that eased his tension. Nonetheless, not _everything_ was going according to plan. The Princess had escaped and he had no idea where she was, except to know that she wasn't with Link. The Holy would be demanding an explanation, he was sure of it.

As if on cue, the candlelights began to flutter, the temperature in the room dropping rapidly. Servion steeled himself.

A wispy cloud, lightening blue radiance sparking in its centre, appeared from within the triangle. A face appeared, blurred and indistinguishable. Servion's breath vanished for a heartbeat, as it always did whenever the Holy appeared. The sheer beauty of the spectacle was enough to convince him that it was, indeed, sent from Above to aid him restore his people's rights.

"_Servion._"

The voice reverberated around his mind, making his vision blurry. Such were the burdens of being chosen as a conduit between the heavens above and the world below. The Hylian swallowed as he bowed his head. "Yes."

"_How goes it_?"

"The city is secure," he said. A sense of pious giddiness washed over him, mixing with the awe that was already present. "I still do not have enough resources to spread out to the other territories."

The Holy was silent for a moment, his face shimmering like a pool into which a stone had been cast. "_We have a problem._"

Servion grit his teeth, feeling certain that it would mention the Princess. The music continued to play, faint and lilting, and he tried to draw strength from it.

When it was clear the Chief was not going to speak, the Holy went on: "_The Demon is about to emerge from his shell._"

The Demon. Servion knew that that referred to the Holy's arch-nemesis, a person the ignorant would hail as a 'hero'. How little they knew. "I shall find him and kill him."

"_Indeed_." Was there a trace of amusement in its voice? "_With him is a girl. She is…a threat._"

"What shall I do?" It was, he mused, somewhat irritating for him to be cowed in this manner. Servion was used to being Chief. He was used to seeing others grovel before him.

"_They head for a City of Gold,_" the Holy continued. "_They must not arrive there._"

"I will send all available men there immediately."

"_No._" The Holy's tone was measured. "_You must go yourself. I will show you the way. But first, I will tell you how to find the Triforce of Power._"

A cold spark of greed ignited in Servion's heart. He waited for the Holy to explain further.

"_You must use the Triforce on the girl and draw me out from her._"

Perplexity made Servion's face crease into a frown. "Draw you out?"

The Holy's voice took on an impatient sheen. "_I am trapped within her soul._" There was a pause, as if the apparition was daring Servion to speak. "_Once that is done you must kill her before the Demon does so himself._"

The Chief's mind was racked with confusion now. "Why would he want to kill her?"

"_Do not question me_," it replied. Cold waves radiated out from the cloud. The air thinned, and the Hylian felt his throat tightening in suffocation. Servion's forehead broke out in an instant sweat. Then, just as quickly as it had arrived, the sensation left him. "_I have aided you so far. Now it is time for you to return the favour. Do not think I have not forgotten your failure regarding the Princess."_

Servion flinched. "What happens," he said, trying to steer the conversation away from a discussion of his faults, "if the girl dies with you still a part of her?"

The cloud seemed to change texture, darkening for a moment, then slowly beginning to glow again. "_Then I die, too._"

This was even more curious. How could a creature from Heaven be killed so easily? Deciding he didn't really want to know, he asked instead: "The girl. What's her name?"

The Holy chuckled, a sound that settled like a chill on the Chief's soul. "_Zelllllllldaaaaaaaaa._" The voice took on a singsong like quality, as though betraying a loss of sanity, or regressing to some childlike state. Servion winced. "_Her name is Zelllldaaaaaaaa._"

"And the Princess?" he asked, finally summoning up some courage. "We should break off the search for her?"

"_No!_" The Chief almost jumped. "Find her. Quickly."

Servion took in a deep breath. "Wouldn't it be wiser to channel our energies into searching for the Triforce of Wisdom instead?"

The Holy hissed, dark lightening flashing from within the cloud. "Have you not learned anything from me over the time we have known each other?"

"What do you mean?" the Chief barked, not used to being rebuked.

Lightening churned again, and the cloud began to dissipate. "The Princess **is** _the Triforce of Wisdom._"

...

Fran rapped at Sahasrahla's door as the rain began to pour, fist size droplets that dented the fabric of their hoods before trailing off and drumming into the ground. He glanced at the Twins, watched them shuffle impatiently. He tried to flash a smile at the Princess, but she stood apart, standing demurely and lost in her own thoughts. Behind them the boat rocked gently as the rain pelted the lake noisily. This time there had been no surprises waiting for them. It had, he mused, been relatively easy for them to get back to the island. Though they had taken the long way round, they had encountered little opposition -only one or two skirmishes that the Twins had dealt with skilfully. No assassins pursued them. No soldiers asked for their papers. It seemed that the King's forces had been stretched thin; indeed, in every town they passed they heard rumours of unspecified trouble at Castle Dragmire.

The door creaked slowly open and the short, old man stepped out.

"Marcaster," he said.

Fran smiled and bowed his head slightly.

Sahasrahla turned to the Princess. "Your Highness. It's been a long time."

A sincere smile touched her lips. "It has," she said. "It's good to see you again."

The shorter man stepped aside, letting Fran and the Princess pass. The Twins shuffled up to the door. Sahasrahla blinked, then slowly let his eyes trail up to Eagle's face. The big Calatian looked down in kind. Their gazes locked. "Ah," the old man said. "Link! How you've grown! I remember when you were knee high to a~"

His voice ended in a short gurgle as Fran dragged him by the collar into the hut. Composing himself quickly, Sahasrahla glared at his friend. "I take it you lost him, then?"

A twinge of pain crossed Fran's face. "We were separated," he said. "I don't know where he is now."

The short man shuffled across to his stove. "No matter."

"What do you mean?" the Princess asked, confused. "Don't we need him to battle the King?"

Sahasrahla picked up a pot and turned to the others. "Tea?" he offered.

"No, thank you," the Princess replied, her voice only betraying the slightest quiver of impatience.

"Hmmm," the short man said, setting the pot down. "I'm not sure the King is the one we're after."

"Oh?"

He smiled, his eyes shining with uncertainty. "To be honest, I'm not sure whoexactly our enemies are."

They fell silent. The rain hammered at the windows rhythmically and the warmth of the strange fire spread across their bodies. A thought blossomed in Fran's mind as he recalled his conversation with the Princess back in Stonewall Village. "The Hylian Chief," he said. "Is he the one we should be wary of?"

Sahasrahla chuckled. "You should certainly be on your guard against him," he said. "But he might not even be the threat."

Eagle sniffed. "What use is it…"

Rya stepped forward. "…if we don't know who to strike against?"

Studying them carefully, the short man licked his lips. "And you are?"

"They work for me," Fran said, before either could reply.

Sahasrahla looked at them again. "Ah," he said, pondering. "Gardeners?"

Eagle growled, but Fran held up a hand, stilling the big man instantly.

"Muscle?' Sahasrahla said, smiling. "You learn quickly, Marcaster."

Fran responded in kind, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against a wall. "I had the best teacher." He sniffed, the familiar scent of spices overpowering his senses.

"Oh?" the short man replied. "Would that be referring to me or the Hero of Time?"

The Princess cleared her throat theatrically, cutting short the conversation.

Glancing at her, Fran bowed his head, then turned back to his friend. "What canyou tell us?"

"We were hoping," the Princess added, her voice pleading. "That you would have answers for us."

The short man sniffed, tapping his fingers against the side of the stove. "There are others with knowledge," he said. "They also know of the Cycle. When I contacted them for further information they did not reply."

"The enemy got to them first?" Fran asked.

Something flickered across Sahasrahla's face, a mixture of doubt and confusion. "No, I don't think so," he said. "They're avoiding me deliberately."

"How can that be?" the Princess asked.

The short man's lips pursed into a tight line. "Something is different," he said distantly. "This isn't as straightforward as it once was."

Shaking her head, the Princess stepped over to him. "What do you mean?" she said. "All my life I've prepared for this." She licked her lips as she tried to settle her thoughts. "I'm supposed to fight side-by-side with the… 'hero'…against whatever evil would rise in this age. We would defeat it, like it was defeated so many times in the past." She paused. "Are you telling me that's all changed now?" Something flashed in her eyes and her cheeks took on a tint of rose. "My family are _dead._ Do you hear me? I haven't even had time to grieve for them yet. I _won't_ believe that they died for nothing."

The sting in her voice rang in their ears for a heartbeat. Sahasrahla shuffled his feet in embarrassment, coughed, then said softly; "We should wait. Link will know he has to come back here."

"That's if the lad's still alive," Fran said.

"He is," the short man replied. "Of that I'm certain."

"Will he know…" Rya said.

"…howto get here?" her brother finished.

Fran opened his mouth to reply, then realised he had nothing of value to say.

Eagle snorted. "You are quite ill-prepared…"

"…Master Marcaster."

The Princess raised a finger to her lips in what was, to Fran, a now familiar gesture. "I wonder," she said. "Should we search for him?"

"Where would we begin?" he replied. "Besides, it's not safe for you."

"The Twins could do it."

The Calatians nodded vigorously, but a denial was already forming on Fran's lips. He needed them here to protect the Princess. A sound from the outside cut him off before he even had the chance to speak. They all looked up, their faces tense. It came again, a splash that seemed to be far too close.

"Your pet?" Fran asked hopefully, nodding at Sahasrahla.

The shorter man shook his head. The splash came again, this time rocking the hut and sending dust billowing into the air.

"It seems," Sahasrahla said grimly, walking towards the door, "that we have visitors."

...

Zelda watched the flickering flames dance in front of her, the waves of blue and yellow licking the air and making it shimmer. Leaves burned from within the fire and she gazed into it, noticing one that curled slowly like a child shifting in her sleep. The leaf turned black, molten orange fissures tearing through its skin, then withered away into red-hot ash. She felt nothing, her face a statuesque mask. Dimly she was aware of the warmth of the blaze softly caressing her skin, but inside she felt drained, empty, as though her soul had been torn from her like cotton wool dragged from a thorny branch. She was worn out, both in body and spirit.

She could sense Link's eyes upon her as he sat across from her on the other side of the fire the Deku Tree had made for them. The Tree itself watched on in silence. If she couldn't muster up enough enthusiasm to look at Link, she certainly couldn't bear gazing up at the Tree.

Zelda closed her eyes and she saw a blood red imprint of the fire flutter under her eyelids. Still unable to make sense of everything that she had had to absorb over the past hour, she clung to thoughts and feelings from deep within – her conviction in setting the world right, her faith that everything she did would bear fruit in this world and the next. Then the clammy hand of despair touched her as she remembered the Tree's words. Everything would be set right – but only at the cost of her life. Her heart thudded in her chest, and it sounded far, far too loud. _Run away,_ something whispered in her mind. _Far away._

"But," she said finally, trying to focus on the here and now. She swallowed. It hurt to talk. "But I'm not the Princess." It was the first time any of them had said anything for a while and, to Zelda, her voice came across as hollow and broken.

She heard the Tree stir from above. Still she didn't look up.

"You are the true heir to the Harkinian throne," he said, his voice sounding as though he were gargling with rocks. "Somewhere, over time, a mistake was made. Knowledge passed away from the world, and only traces remained. Many things were forgotten. How and why this changeover happened, I do not know."

A distant part of Zelda's mind noted that Link had frowned at the mention of her family name. She dismissed it, not wanting to dwell on too many things at once.

"I look just like her," she continued, still staring blankly into the fire. A hint of a smile brushed her lips as she remembered the Princess. "I was her decoy. If she ever needed to escape, I was to misguide whoever it was that pursued her." She paused, reminiscing. "The Princess never left the safehouse. I couldn't live like that, so they gave me a disguise. Sheik of the Sheikah. Apparently, he played an important part in my family's history." She flicked ash from her tunic. "They even started referring to me as 'Sheik'. It's been a while since anyone has called me by my real name."

Feeling somewhat exposed without the disguise, Zelda had torn a strip from her tunic. Tying back her hair, she had fashioned a makeshift scarf from the material. Her face remained undisguised. It didn't matter now, anyway. Leaning forward, she spoke again, "At the end of it all, we didn't fool anyone." She took in a deep breath. "They still took the Princess."

Drawing her knees up to her chin, Zelda wrapped her arms around her legs and chewed on her lower lip. Despite the fire's heat, she shivered. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Link stand up.

"You knew nothing about this?" he asked, his voice soft.

Zelda shook her head. "Nothing." Her voice echoed around the cavern, making it sound even more forlorn. "The Princess was important. The Elders would spend all their time with her. No one else was invited to their meetings."

"There must be something else we can do," Link continued, staring up at the Tree. "Some other way to break the curse." He glanced down at her, and her heart contracted painfully as she saw the concern swimming in his eyes. He looked back up. "Hello?"

Branches rustled from above. "This is the only way."

Link's cheek twitched. Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, he stepped forward. "Don't tell me that," he spat. "Isn't there anything your much vaunted knowledge has for us? Any alternative at all?"

The Tree rumbled, twigs snapping and spinning to the ground gracefully. "I regret that there is not. There are, young Link, some battles that are never destined to be won. You think like the Warrior. Remember the mistake he made."

The young man's cheeks flushed scarlet and he hissed. "It can't be done. There is no other choice," Link mocked. "Sahasrahla said the same thing about rescuing Mystral. You're just the same as that old fool." He was shaking now. His voice dropped to a venom-laced whisper. "You sanctimonious, pompous…" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "…overgrown _weed._"

Zelda heard a creak from above. She felt sure that, had he possessed any, the Great Deku Tree would be raising his eyebrows at that moment. She smiled, though she still felt nothing inside.

Still Link didn't give up. "What about justice?" His voice became strained. "Justice for Mystral? Justice for She~" He stopped himself. "For _Zelda._" The Tree stayed silent. Link rolled his tongue around the inside of his cheek. "No," he said. "_No._ I'm sick of it all. People like _you _pushed me away from my sister." His breathing grew more rapid. "I believe there must be justice. Even in this world." He flinched, his emotions getting the better of his face. "The One, Unseen will help us. I'm _sure_ of it."

"Faith is an admirable trait," Zelda said. "But sometimes we have to realise that that very faith may demand sacrifices of us." Strangely, her own words comforted her. It was as though the ideas weren't real until they had been expressed on her lips.

Link ran to her, his eyes wide, and crouched down. "Didn't you say I had to have faith?" he said, his voice almost hysterical. "That I had to purify my heart?"

Finally she turned to him. "I did," she said. His reaction had made her heart quiver. "And you do." She licked her lips. "But I also said we had to be better than the animals. We can't live just for ourselves. We have to help others. We weren't put on this world just to eat, sleep and play. Sometimes we have to give up something precious so that others can prosper." She felt her strength grow with every word. Or, at least, that's what she told herself. Why, then, was she trembling?

The Tree chuckled. "Spoken like a true Princess."

Link glared at him, then looked back at her. Zelda turned away. Picking up a stick, she prodded at the fire. It hissed and crackled in response, spitting sparks into the air.

"Link," she said. "If you do this…task…you'll get your sister back. I'm sure of it." Zelda regretted the words as soon as she'd spoken them. Stealing a glance at his face, she saw the conflict fighting on his features. She had no right to promise him anything she wasn't sure would be delivered.

"I can't believe you're just going to go along with this," he whispered. His fists clenched and unclenched. "It could be lying."

Zelda shook her head. "The Tree knows who I am. He knows who _you _are. I don't think he's lying, Link."

The young Hylian closed his eyes. "Fran used to mention something about an event that would occur every one hundred summers," he said, his voice distant. "He said it was to do with me and a Princess." His eyes blinked open. "I don't understand how you're taking this so well."

Zelda was silent for a moment as she pooled her thoughts together. "I was always taught that each one of us had a purpose in life, no matter how small." She looked at him again, saw the shadows flicker on his face. "I still believe that. You don't know my life, Link. I'm no stranger to making sacrifices." Her breathing became laboured. "How could I live with myself knowing that if I survived others would suffer?" She felt the disgust roll in her heart. "I just can't do that."

"Of course," the Tree said. "You are under no obligation, young Link. You can hide away from the world, safe in the knowledge that the consequences of your actions won't be fully felt until you're long gone."

Link rose to his feet. "You're quite the schemer, weed, do you know that?" he said, his tone unkind. There was a pause, then he said: "I'll take her to the city. I'll find the sword. _Just in case._" He let out a breath, tried to control his twitching features. "But I'm not going to promise you anything other than that. Once we get there, we'll find another way. We _must._"

"You should also be aware," the Tree said dismissively, "that the enemy has somehow been alerted to our plans. The minions of darkness will spread through the land to seek Zelda out. Link, you must make sure that they do not kill her." More leaves rustled. "You must make sure that _you_ are the only one to slay her in order for this curse to be lifted."

Zelda laughed, a short, harsh sound that hurt her throat. "My, my," she said. "Who'll get to kill me first? Who'll win the grand prize?" Bitterness flooded her voice. "I never imagined my life would turn out like this. So amusing. So cheap."

Silence fell on them like a shroud. Zelda tried to imagine what her family would think if they knew the situation she was in now. For some reason, the memory of their images escaped her. Everything seemed unreal. Had they known? Had this all been some sort of cruel trick?

She pushed the thoughts away as soon as they emerged. Despair, she knew, was just one of many things that she would have to battle against.

Zelda's musings broke as she heard the crunch of twigs and dried leaves.

Link stepped towards her. "May I see your blade, please?"

A flicker of confusion touched her face. For one dizzying moment she thought he was going to finish her off right there and then. She cursed herself for entertaining such silliness. He specifically needed the black blade, and that was far away in the North. A sour taste coated her tongue. How neat it all sounded. How straightforward.

Drawing one of her daggers from her belt with a leathery slither, she flipped it into the air, caught it, then placed it hilt first into Link's outstretched hand.

Zelda watched, curious, as he moved towards the fire, thrust the blade within the inferno for a moment, then drew himself up to his full height. She almost had to shrink back. The mask of determination on his face coupled with the flames sparkling in his eyes made him look ten summers older. Pulling off his gloves with his teeth, he placed the glowing blade against one palm. She waited, her jaw tensing.

A heartbeat passed. A second. In the distance the clicking began again, then, as if realising something momentous was about to occur, melted into silence. She blinked, and felt her breathing grow shallow, the world somehow feeling a lot more constrained, as if it had narrowed in that last instant.

"My sister's gone," Link said softly. "I don't know if my friends are still alive. You're all that I have left." Zelda jerked as he slashed across his hand with the knife, sending a hail of scarlet droplets hissing into the blaze. "I swear," he gasped, clenching his injured fist until his fingers were coated with a dark red film. His voice grew deeper, a hard edge of steel cloaked with the formality of a person familiar to being in royal company. "I _swear_, by the One, Unseen that, no matter what happens at the end, so long as there is _one_ breath left in this body of mine, so long as there is _one_ tiny spark of life in my heart, so long as I have just _one _limb that I can still use, I swear that no harm will come to you on our journey, Zelda, and I will be willing to _die_ in order to fulfil this oath."

Zelda's mouth fell open; her heart, feeling too large and beating too fast, catching in her throat as the world swam around her. Waves of shock spread though her, making her tremble. Her vision became smudged as hot tears pricked at her eyes. She gazed at Link, her would-be saviour, her would-be murderer. Memories assaulted her, breaking through the dam of her mind -seeing her family's butchered remains, remembering the sting of Kafei's betrayal, fretting over her recurring visions and reeling from the Great Deku Tree's revelations. It was all too overwhelming. Eyelids becoming heavy, Zelda drifted to the ground, distantly hearing Link call her name as she let the sweet embrace of darkness envelop her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Kafei let himself be shoved along with the others. Though their hands and feet were unbound, their captors were heavily armed and violently pushed them up the dusty, stone stairs. Their footsteps rang out in the narrow, dimly lit passageway. He kept Anju close to him, his wife's eyes glinting angrily whenever the guards pushed her and the baby too hard. A sour skin enveloped Kafei's heart. What had he dragged his family into?

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and they burst out onto the roof of the castle, letting winter's chill air flow over all of them. Torches burned on two of the walls that hemmed the roof in. Looking up, he noticed that the sky was smudged grey as the sun began its descent. A thick, luxurious carpet had been laid out on the floor, intricate patterns flowing all over the rich material. Hylian guards were everywhere, examining their blades and eyeing them suspiciously.

"What's happening?" Mystral asked, her voice small.

"I don't know," Ganondorf replied. He craned his neck forward. "It seems we have an audience."

Kafei followed his gaze. Sure enough, in the courtyard below, a throng of Hylians stood, their voices hushed and murmuring. "It looks like," he said, "that we're the central attraction in today's day of executions." Seeing Anju's horrified expression, he wished he hadn't said anything at all.

The King didn't help. "You're right," he said, his eyes cold. "He's going to kill us to cement his position as ruler."

Doubt made Ganondorf's forehead crease. "Then why didn't he do so earlier?" he said. "No. Something has changed. He has a different agenda here."

Kafei didn't care what the Hylian Chief's plans were. Warmth touched one side of his face, and he turned his head. A torch flickered close to where he stood, dripping ash. He glanced at it, then looked at the carpet. An idea snapped to life in his mind.

The buzz of chatter from the crowd melted away as Servion Boarhound made his appearance, his cloak freshly washed, his boots sparkling with polish. Two heavily armoured guards, their shining breastplates bulging from beneath their tunics, flanked him. Casting a lazy glance over the group, the Chief turned his attention towards the crowd. Kafei swallowed, and inched to the side. His face froze, his eyes desperately seeking any sign that he'd been noticed. Heart thumping slowly, he saw that everyone was too busy with Servion. He took another sidestep. The wind pulled at his hair, and sweat prickled his scalp.

"My friends," the Chief called. "My _people._" He paused, waiting for all the onlookers to give him their full attention. "Today…is the Day of Reckoning. Today, we shall take our revenge on those who have kept us under their heel for far too long." With a flourish, he swept his arm out and pointed at the two Gerudo. The crowd cheered. "Today…they _die._" His eyes flared, smouldering with passion as the people's enthusiasm grew. He knew what burned in their hearts, knew how to stoke it and bring it to the surface. Voice dropping slightly, he added: "And today, we find out _why_ this heathen scum was able to dominate us so easily."

He took in a deep breath, drowning in the adulation that roared from the crowd. He glanced at one of the guards. "Executioner, are you ready?"

The Executioner flipped a sword in his hand, blade flashing. "I am." Another roar followed.

Servion clicked his fingers. "Bring forth the King."

"The King!" the crowd chanted. "Bring forth the King!"

The guards all shifted their attention to Montero and, in that instant, Kafei moved. Taking a deep breath to calm his jittery nerves, he took one final step, unhooked the torch from its holder, then flung it to the ground. A few shocked eyes caught him, but they were helpless to do anything. The flame caught the carpet with a _whoomph_, then billowed out across the floor in rapidly spreading waves. The guards panicked as smoke plumed into the air. Screams and confused shouts rung out from the crowd.

Kafei turned to the others, noticed their bewildered expressions. They looked lost, as though not sure what to do. Smoke drifted in-between them, and he lost sight of the women.

"What…?" Ganondorf gaped. "What's happening?"

"It's a chance!" Kafei snarled, his eyes searching for his wife. The guards, finally regaining their senses, swung their swords into position, their bodies tensing as they prepared to charge. "Use it!"

...

Link and Zelda walked north, following a narrow, barren trail through the forest that eventually widened out to merge into a wide valley, sprinkled with green grass, where winter flowers dared to peek out from the earth. Bannock flew, silent and invisible, above them, his wings flapping in a rhythmic leathery beat that disturbed the air and ruffled their tunics. The quiet sighs and mournful whistles of the slumbering forest animals gave way to the lonely buzz of solitary insects and the occasional whoop and cry of a bird passing overhead. The trees, their branches webbed with ice and frost, grew fewer in number as they travelled onwards; thick, wrinkled oaks fading into tall, thin silver-cloaked birches, until they, too, eventually all fell away, leaving a flat and level landscape.

It would have been easier, Link mused as he guided them to the banks of a bubbling, gurgling river, if they'd had a pair of horses. The Deku Tree, through means of rotted chests buried deep in the cavern floor, had provided them with coinage, and with it they had stopped for a night in a nearby village. There, they had purchased a fresh set of clothes, a pair of travel packs and some warm, freshly cooked food.

Link's mind drifted back to that night. As he had tried to find them separate rooms in the inn, a rowdy group of young men had entered, honing in on Zelda. Their keen wolf-like senses had, no doubt, made anything but a lone female melt away from their vision. His friend, to her credit, had kept her patience, pointedly ignoring the men's vulgar suggestions that rolled freely from their tongues, all the while making sure that her hand was hovering close to her daggers.

Link, on the other hand, had not quite had the same amount of icy self-control. He winced as he remembered the carnage they'd left behind, the shattered tables, the broken bones and the frothy liquid staining the walls. After making reparations for that, they hadn't had enough money left to buy any horses. He had considered using his Glimmer Bird as transport, but Bannock couldn't carry two people for over such a lengthy distance. Zelda had been curiously silent about the whole affair, not even hinting at it once.

His right hand, crudely wrapped with dirty fabric, began to throb. He could feel the scar from Zelda's knife with every step he took. The memory of his oath was a like a dull blur, fading away with each passing moment. Awe still struck his heart as he considered the weighty implications of what he had done. A few days ago he had been at the mouth of the prison complex wishing fervently for death. Now all he cared about was to cling to life, not for himself, of course, but to make certain that Zelda would remain unharmed. Her life, her eventual fate seemed grossly unfair to him, and reminded him of the hardships his sister had had to endure on a daily basis. Heat pumped into his heart. He may have failed Mystral, but he was _not_ going to fail Zelda.

He frowned. Is this what his sister had to go through everyday? Her nights spent alone waiting for him to return from another mission, the lines carved into her once smooth face as a result – was it all for him? Another image flittered into his mind. The night of his Test came back, the memory of the woman and her child throwing herself in front of her husband so that Link and his squadron would not kill him. The emotions churning within him, keeping him awake at all hours - were they what 'normal' people always felt?

Despite everything, though, the same, taunting thought would haunt him time and time again, rolling around his head during moments of weakness. The idea that, no matter how hard he tried to protect her, at the end of the day Zelda had to die at his own hands. He closed his eyes, letting out a small breath. Pushing the traitorous notion to one side, he steeled his mind, not wanting to dwell on things that he still didn't have to face and, therefore, still had time to change.

"Link." Zelda's voice drifted over to him. He cocked his head to one side. Link was walking at a distance ahead of her, his right hand wrapped around his left wrist, the gender etiquettes of Hylian society too well-ingrained into him to ignore. Besides. He had to purify his heart, or at least attempt to do so. Surely chivalry in the company of a young woman was a step towards that? He hoped, with a surge of euphoric faith that blossomed urgently in his soul, that the One, Unseen would be pleased with him and would aid them on their path. It was a strange sensation, especially after summers of cold training at the hands of the Assassin's League.

"Yes?" he replied, his gaze returning the river at their side. The green-blue liquid rolled over the rocks and stumps littering the uneven riverbed, frothing at every little obstacle. Occasionally he would spy huge chunks of dirty black ice lazily riding the waves. It was certainly a lot warmer in this part of Greater Calatia. Things were a lot greener here, too, with flowers and leaves making regular appearances. Ahead he heard a low, steady rumble. Waterfall. The valley must dip into a larger one nearby. They would have to split from this trail soon.

"You still haven't told me why exactly you and your friends were looking for the Princess," she replied. It hurt Link to hear her. The vibrant sparkle that had given her voice such life when they had first met was now missing. Out of the corner of his eye, he flicked her a glance. He had wanted so much to know what she had looked like under her disguise, but now he wished the Tree had never taken it from her. Her face sagged, looking far older than her sixteen summers, and dark circles had taken root around her eyes. Link's heart spiked. He desperately wished to see her smile.

Stopping short, he pulled a scroll from his belt. The rustling parchment fluttered in the breeze as he unfurled it. "The _weed_ gave me a map," he explained. "We'll be entering Bandit Country soon." He rubbed his nose, pondering. "Do you know anything about Bandits?"

Zelda shook her head. Link smiled in response, seeing an opportunity to put to good use his studies in the Assassin Academy. "Outlaws," he said. "They won't bother with us unless they want something."

Zelda's eyes narrowed. "And how does that make them different from any other person in the world?" She stepped a little forward. "What do they think of Hylians?"

"I don't know", he said. "They're a law unto themselves."

Link's eyes dropped to her belt. Her weapons dangled there, clinking against each other. She'd separated them, keeping most on one side. On the other side, a lone dagger hung, still stained with his blood. From time to time, Link would catch her tapping idly on the Oath Blade's hilt.

"Link," she continued. "My question?"

Sighing, the young Hylian rolled the scroll up. The steady trickle of water mixed with the wet sounds of the river animals croaking and spitting. "Fran and his insane friend Sahasrahla think I'm some sort of 'hero'," he said sourly. "It was like the weed said. Every one hundred summers this same prophecy is fulfilled over and over." He blinked, his voice dropping an octave. "It all just sounds so…unbelievable."

"It _is_ strange," Zelda said softly, "that someone can be considered a 'Hero' for something he hasn't done yet."

Her words stung for some reason. He opened his mouth, wanting to vehemently argue his case that, yes, he truly was a 'Hero'. The sheer stupidity of the idea made his jaws snap shut quickly.

Zelda spoke again. "Sahasrahla." She seemed to be rolling the name around her tongue. "So others know of this…affair, then?"

Link studied the river again. "I don't know how much he knows." A faint smile crossed his lips. "It seems everyone knew, but the two of us." She moved to speak, but Link cut her off, motioning towards the water with his head. "You should take this chance to clean up. We don't know how long it'll be before we find the next friendly settlement." He glanced at her. "I promise I won't look." It was a weak attempt at humour, he knew. But he wanted to provoke some sort of reaction from her.

Nothing changed on Zelda's face. "Thank you," she said simply.

Closing his eyes, Link pursed his lips together. He wasn't going to let her do this. His vow of protection extended to both body and spirit, and he wasn't going to let her drag her soul down under a mountain of gloom. That's what Mystral had done for summers, and he hadn't ever lifted a finger to prevent it. His mind raced, searching for ideas. She had, for a few nights as they sat around a fire that gave off little warmth, spoken warmly about the stories she had been told as a child. Tales of far off places, of people filled with nobility and a staunch desire for the truth. Link had heard similar yarns when he was younger, too, but unlike Zelda he hadn't taken them to heart. This girl standing before him, however, had a deep attachment for the teachings she learned from them. She seemed, at least to him, to possess a yearning sense of spirituality which, though appearing naïve, his heart couldn't help but respond to. Strange, considering the circumstances in which he'd first met her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, dragging him from his thoughts.

"A little," Link asked, surprised to see the concern on her face. "Why?"

There was a smile in her eyes, if not her face. Her eyes would dart to his injured hand every few seconds, as though she were fighting a battle to pull her gaze away. "I thought perhaps I could cook something." She glanced around, her hands on her hips. "If we could find something _to_ cook and you could get a fire going."

He looked out across the valley, wondering what sort of animal called this place home. "I'll find something," he said. "Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes, well," she replied. Her face was hidden as she looked out at the river, and he couldn't tell what expression she wore. "Don't get too used to it."

Link frowned, unsure of her reaction. She caught him off-guard by looking directly at him. "What I mean is that I'd _love_ to," she said. "But you have to help me."

A smile came to his lips. "Of course."

"What is it," she continued, "that you _do_ exactly, Link?"

"Do?"

Zelda shrugged. "For livelihood," she said. "To put food on your family's table."

Briefly, he considered lying to her, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted her to trust him. "Mystral – that's my sister – she weaves dresses." He kept his gaze on her. "She's rewarded quite handsomely for the effort."

If she'd noticed that he had avoided her question, she didn't mention it. Zelda looked up, eyeing him curiously. "Your sister," she said. "Is that all you have of your family?" Her voice seemed to waver at the end.

Link stayed silent, carefully considering his answer. "Family to me," he said slowly, "is anyone I would give my life to keep safe." He looked at her directly. His heart thudded. "You are my family now."

Something flickered in her eyes. Once again, the mixture of fear and…something else, something he couldn't quite place…washed over her face. She looked distinctly uncomfortable for a heartbeat, then quickly composed herself. Link's heart fluttered. At least she'd reacted.

"You don't know me, Link," Zelda said, without malice.

It was, he realised, a valid point. Then again, it was about the third time she'd said that to him, and he began to wonder at what point she was going to let him get to know her better. The weed's words came back to him. _The true heir to the Harkinian throne._ "What about your family?" he asked. Perhaps if he could coax her into talking about something close to her heart it would release some of her tension.

Zelda turned away. "My family are dead." Her voice, already cold and empty, grew more haggard. "Probably the King's Assassins were responsible."

Something cold and clammy exploded in the deepest pit of Link's soul. He'd already come to the conclusion that everything everyone had told him in his entire life had been nothing more than lies or shadows of the truth. But now, for the first time, he was coming face to face with the consequences of a life ill spent. He felt nauseous, his mouth turning dry instantly. He'd begged the Deku Tree for justice, but, in truth, he himself had been the one spreading injustice, whether directly or indirectly, from the moment the King had taken him under his wing. There were too many things that he had to atone for. Too many things that had to be set right before he could be certain of Grace from Above.

Setting his eyes on the horizon, Link noticed the small, grey shapes of a pair of chaves darting through what remained of the grass. Leathery skin hiding tender flesh, chaves were considered quite the delicacy back in the city. "Would you like to hunt?"

"What?" Zelda said, mouth agape. "You want me to _kill_ something?"

"For food," he replied. "You said that that was acceptable. Remember? On the rooftops of the city?" He unhooked his crossbow, flicking the switch. "Try it." He nodded at the chaves. "I'm in the mood for some stew."

Wearing a slightly sour look of distaste, she gingerly took the weapon from him. He threw her an arrow, then stepped aside as she took aim. The crossbow trembled in her hand as her mouth thinned into a tight line. She stood straight again, tested the weapon's weight, then aimed once more.

"Keep it steady," he whispered. "Feel the weapon. Become one with it." He tried to picture what she saw in her mind, tried to let everything but the two animals melt away. He crouched, his fingers touching his lips. "Concentrate. Concentrate."

Zelda's mouth twisted. "I can hardly concentrate when you're muttering nonsense in my ears, can I?" she barked.

Link laughed, stood, then stepped back. "Lady's discretion," he said, bowing his head.

Flicking him a quick glance, she turned her attention back to the chave. She licked her lips, narrowed her eyes, then fired. The crack of the weapon echoed in their ears, sending birds flying and the chave running. The arrow itself spun, twisted, then lodged itself into a lone tree in the distance.

Link whistled, smirking. "Now," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "If you were trying to aim for that bird over there," he gestured, "then that would have been quite a good shot."

Slowly, Zelda turned her head towards him, her eyes glinting. "Is that so?"

Thrusting the crossbow back into Link's arms, she took a step forward. Another step, and two daggers were twirling in her hands. A third, and she let them fly, twin shards of spinning silver tearing through the air. One caught the bird directly in its neck with a _thunk_, the hilt still vibrating. The other sliced through the remaining chave easily.

Link's jaw fell open.

"Now," she said, the corners of her mouth tugging. "Let's see how well _you_ can cook, shall we?" Her lips trembled for a heartbeat. She lowered her head, trying to keep it all in, but failed, first snorting, then finally letting a laugh free.

Link grinned, a huge weight lifting from his heart. Finally! It was such a simple delight so see someone else's joy because of his actions. Sniffing, he wiped tears from his eyes. His laughter grew as Zelda sank to her knees, shaking with mirth. Then, just as soon as it had appeared, the amusement melted from her face, and her blue eyes widened in shock. Link frowned. Why was she staring at him like that? Was she angry with him now? Then the realisation struck him. She wasn't staring at him. She was staring _past_ him.

Spinning on his heel, the young Hylian caught the whine of twin crossbows activating. Frost fell on Link's heart, and he had no time to think about how they had found Zelda and himself. "Run!"

Kisho and Rivero, coolly locking arrows into place, strode towards them as Zelda scrambled to her feet. "Link," the Commander growled. "You've ruined me, do you know that?" His eyes bubbled with fury. "I'm the laughing stock of our trade. Not only does one of my own men - a Hylian, no less, that I stuck my neck out to protect – turn out to be traitor, but he then manages to kill one of his teammates."

Link and Zelda stumbled over rocks and boulders, their boots creating deep gouges into the earth as they traced a path by the riverside. "What's he saying?" Zelda demanded, confusion dancing in her eyes. "What does he mean?" She dared to throw a glance backwards. "Those men were in the prison. Who _are_ they?"

Seeing that his two former friends had picked up speed, the young Hylian flipped his weapon into his hand, his arm trembling from the backwash as he flicked the crossbow on. "It doesn't matter," he called back, his breath short and ragged. In a surreal moment, considering they were running for their lives, Link nervously hoped that the Commander wouldn't say anything that would jeopardise his friendship with Zelda. "Don't listen to him!"

"I was like a father to you!" Kisho screamed, raising his crossbow. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Link jerked his head around, his boots slipping in the soil. "Jonah's already tried that trick," he shouted. "If you're not careful, you'll end up just like him."

Snarling, Kisho fired, his face illuminated briefly from the glow of ignited powder. His heart lurching, Link threw himself forward, bringing Zelda to the ground. They clattered into the damp soil, winded, the sharp edges of stone and broken twigs tearing into their tunics as the arrow hurtled harmlessly over their heads. Link fired back, a blind shot, and the burnt stench of the powder clung to the air. He pulled Zelda to her feet. "Keep going," he gasped.

They continued to run, following the winding riverbank. Link knew that if they drew away from the river, his two former friends would have them both out in the open. A pair of easy targets.

They sprinted into a small cluster of huddled trees, the trail ahead hidden. Branches scratched and clawed at their faces, the grassy scent of pine and leaves flooding their senses. Link could feel the duo at their heels now, his back prickling in the expectation that one of them, Rivero the likeliest, would curl his fingers around his tunic at any second now and force them all to stop.

Link spat, removing the metallic taste of fear from his mouth, then jumped over a small boulder in his path. Pivoting on his heels, he kicked, launching the rock spinning into air, and fired again. The boulder caught Kisho a glancing blow, and the arrow skimmed over the top of the bigger man's head. Zelda spun around, too, daggers flashing dangerously.

"Not now," Link said, holding out an arm. He turned back, stepped forward and –

Zelda gasped as they slid to a halt. The land dropped away into a chasm of water, the river by their side flowing into an immense waterfall, a churning, gushing mass of foam that crashed into the rocks below. The sound, Link realised now, was deafening. The panic of the chase and the blood thumping in their ears must have masked the noise. Spray from the waterfall tickled their faces. Link shifted his footing, and a stone tipped over, trembled on the edge of the cliff for a heartbeat, then plummeted into the water.

They twirled around at the sound a twig breaking. Kisho and Rivero glared at them, grinning, their weapons ready.

"We're bringing you in," the Commander said softly. His eyes shifted to Zelda. "As for her, I don't who she is." His trigger finger twitched. "So she can die."

"No!" Dropping his crossbow, Link leapt to the side just as Kisho fired. Muscles and nerves screaming as though they had been bathed in salt, the young Hylian pushed Zelda with all his strength, then raised his left hand to deflect the arrow. Zelda tumbled to the ground, and the wooden shaft split Link's skin, before flying out into the abyss. He hissed, diving for his weapon once more, despite now having no uninjured hand to make use of it.

Zelda sprang back to her feet instantly. One quick glance at her friend left her mouth open in shock. Her head snapped towards their attackers, her daggers flipping into position as her eyes flashed angrily from under her scarf. Link saw the two assassins step back uncertainly as they considered the girl. Pulling her arm back, Zelda threw. Liquid metal spun, glinting for an instant, before driving itself into Rivero's shoulder. The big man roared. "_Bitch!_" he hissed as he struggled to free the blade.

There wasn't time to think. Move, move, _move. _Link, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm, scooped his crossbow up and fired. The arrow flew up, seemingly missing all targets, and disturbed the leaves in the tree above.

Kisho snorted, then raised his own weapon. A smile ghosted across his face. A sad smile. "It appears you've lost your touch," he said. There seemed to be genuine disappointment in his voice. "You really can't work under pressure, can you?" He twitched involuntarily. "You have failed your 'Test'."

Link froze, uncertain. Then a sharp crack pierced the air, and an overhanging branch, split at the end by the youngster's arrow, tumbled down on top of the Commander, knocking him unconscious.

Link looked up. The air shimmered above him, and he heard the faint flap of invisible wings. He smiled.

Zelda leapt towards him, then slid to the ground on her knees, tearing a strip of fabric from her tunic. "Quickly!" she spat, throwing a glance at Rivero and wrapping the material around Link's freshly injured hand.

They rose to their feet, the sound of the water rumbling and spitting from bellow. Link turned to Zelda and asked, "Do you trust me?"

Her blue eyes grew wide with confusion. "What?"

"_Do you trust me?"_

Her hand dropped automatically to the Oath Blade. "Yes."

"Then _jump!_"

...

Anju, cradling baby Hobert protectively in her arms, ran for one corner of the roof, ducking under drawn swords and swinging fists. Her eyes darted this way and that, surveying the carnage. The fire was spreading slowly across the ground, radiating crackling waves of heat that pricked her skin. Impa, Ganondorf, her husband and the King fought on, but it was clear they faced a losing battle.

The Hylian Chief was nowhere to be seen, slipping away as soon as the chaos had started. The crowd below were becoming restless, murmuring their disappointment. Others called for help, confused at what was going on.

Anju spotted Mystral on the far side, but the path to her was blocked with too many guards. Leaning back against the wall, she hissed. Hobert began whimpering, and instinctively her hand went to his head, stroking.

Her fool husband. She'd known why he'd done it, of course, despite the fact it had filled her with disgust when he had eventually told her. Anju wasn't a Harkinian and when she had married into the family, she had taken a dramatic drop in her standard of living. Fresh meat and exotic fruits, taken for granted in her youth, had been replaced with dried bread and mouldy cheese. She had given up daydreaming about the latest fashions of the city, instead worrying more about finding anything, no matter how threadbare, just to cover herself with.

It _had_ taken a while to adjust to, she had to admit. There were times when it stretched her patience. Others when it tore at her from within, especially when she had become pregnant. Still. Never once had she considered giving up her husband or her new family. She had even tried to get funds from her trader father, but the Harkinians had politely refused, not wanting to rely on others.

Kafei, on the other hand, had been stricken by their situation. Considering himself a failure because he had brought her into a poverty stricken family, he burned away with guilt and anguish. He feared, deep down, that Anju would one day leave him, taking the baby in tow. With such paranoid notions biting at his heart, he chose his new family over his old one. He chose to betray the Harkinians on the promise that he and his immediate family would be left alone to forge a prosperous life on their own. At times, it made a sick sort of sense. But not always. It made Anju nauseous just to think about it. A cold weight settled on her soul, held into place by the guilt she felt; guilt that, had she not married into the family, the Harkinians would be alive today. Most of all, though, she was struck with a profound sense of isolation. She truly didn't know her husband, after all. And that, considering the sacrifices she had made, scared her deeply.

Anju looked up. The King had managed to take one of the guards prisoner, relieving him of his sword. He waved it about menacingly, the polished metal catching the molten glow of the fire. "Keep back!" he snarled. "Or I'll slit his throat." The other guards hesitated, backing off and lowering their weapons slightly. "Now," he breathed. "We want safe passage out of here."

Anju saw Kafei glance at her. "Over here!" he called.

Shifting Hobert so that his head rested on her shoulder, she rose to her feet, cautiously edging past the guards. A hand darted out from the shadows, clutching her arm. She spun, her heart freezing. Something shoved her back, and she felt someone tear her baby from her arms.

"No!" she shrieked, stumbling.

Servion stepped forward, a twisted grin on his lips. Anju snarled, preparing to leap forward. She'd tear his eyes out if he had to. It looked – and _felt_ – so unnatural to see her baby in the hands of another.

The Chief stepped back. "Stop," he said, raising the child. He walked to the edge of the roof as Hobert began crying. The others watched on in shock. The cords in Kafei's arms and neck tensed, bulging, his eyes never leaving Servion's.

Anju began trembling, her heart hammering agonizingly in her chest. The world became diluted in her eyes. Time shrank and space felt suffocating. She felt the muscles in her face tighten to the point where they felt they would burst. She ignored the pain.

Slowly, Servion extended his arm until Hobert was left dangling above the crowd below. He spun there, and began to shriek.

"**_NO!_**" Anju screamed. Ignoring the guards' blades, she ploughed forward. Mystral appeared at her side, dragging her back. She tried to claw at the woman's face. Why was she stopping her from reaching her son? Kafei tried to lunge forward as well, but both Impa and Ganondorf held him down.

Servion chuckled. "It seems," he said. "That none of you will be leaving for anywhere, except perhaps," he licked his lips, "for this child." He glanced down, where the crowd gazed up in disbelief, their eyes wide. Some of them had their hands in their mouths, and they chewed nervously.

Montero stepped forward. "What is it you want, Boarhound?" he said carefully.

Anju jerked as the Chief let Hobert slip a little further from his grasp. "What I want," Servion said. "What I want." He chuckled. "Just one little thing." He motioned at Ganondorf. "You. Heathen. I'll hand the child back if you give yourself up to me."

Cautiously, Ganondorf looked from the prisoners to the Chief and back again. Anju stared at him, hope glistening in her eyes.

"I accept," he said. "You can have me. Just give the child back to his mother."

Servion cocked his head to one side, then growled, "Come closer."

Hesitating for a heartbeat, Ganondorf stepped forward.

The Chief jerked his head towards Anju. Smoking curled across his face, masking his features. "Woman," he barked. "Take your child."

She ran forward as Servion pulled Hobert back from the edge. She scooped him up into her arms, hugging his tiny, still shrieking form, then backed off, and rejoined the others.

Servion and Ganondorf stared at each other for a moment, while all around them watched expectantly.

"I'm here," the old Gerudo said, raising his hands. "Now what?"

The Chief smirked, then reached into his cloak. He pulled free a metallic glove, each finger tipped with razor sharp blades, and slipped it onto his hand. He paused, looking out at the crowd, then plunged the spikes into the Gerudo's chest.

Anju spun away, her arm curling around Hobert's face as Ganondorf's scream tore out through the air. Montero sprang forward, calling for his father, but his path was instantly blocked by a score of guards. The crowd screamed too, some turning to flee, others retching. Even the guards were looking at each other with trepidation, shuffling slowly away.

With a ferocious tug, Servion pulled something small free. The Gerudo slumped to the ground, lifeless. The Chief turned towards the crowd. "Have you ever wondered?" he shouted. "How it came to be that a Gerudo rose to power?"

He paused, his crimson-splattered face still grinning insanely.

"Behold!" he said, opening his hand. A small object lay on Servion's glistening palm. "The Triforce of Power."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Is it far?"

Zelda listened to the hum and buzz of the river as she waited for Link to reply. The steady roar of the waterfall droned on in the distance, like the march of a thousand drummers. The water sloshed lazily closer to shore, the pungent scent of the river floating over towards them. Crickets chirped, a rhythmic chorus of sighs pulsing like the beat of a heart. Glowing insects glided erratically around her face, considered her for a moment, then flew away, searching for something more interesting to feed on.

"It's quite a distance," Link said with a sigh. She could make out his form from the moonlight pooling around where they stood. "Even when we get there the city is supposed to be hidden. It might take a while."

She let her eyes drift away from him. It prickled her heart to think about what was to come. And yet, it seemed so distant, like a dull memory from childhood smothered over time. She saw, from the corner of her vision, her Hylian friend turn his attention back to the map, his fingers rubbing the edge of the parchment with a whispery sigh.

Zelda sighed, noticing the bloated, wart ridden form of a toad glancing up at her with jaundiced eyes. She grimaced, her mouth twisting in distaste. Pulling her mind away, she considered their situation.

They had stayed near the riverside for the past few days, close enough so that they could quickly gather water and fish, but not so close that they would be exposed to prying eyes. Leaping from the cliff's edge, screaming as their stomachs rose, the wind tearing at their skin, they had landed on the invisible form of Bannock, who then proceeded to sweep them away from danger, gently bringing them to safe ground at the foot of the waterfall. They slept on the ground, while the Glimmer Bird had kept watch. Zelda's back was sore and felt as stiff as iron. Her clothes felt grimy and uncomfortable. She wasn't used to living outdoors.

Link hadn't wanted them to go on until he was certain that they weren't being followed. He'd scouted the area during the daytime and had poured over the map at night, using a fire as light. Zelda had watched him, telling him stories from her childhood and asking about his. It was just an attempt to keep both their minds occupied. She'd kept herself busy as well. Choosing a suitably sized branch, she had peeled off the bark with her knife and had fashioned herself a fishing rod, using twine from her travel pack as a wire. Curiously, considering his other skills, Link wasn't as good with a rod as he was with a crossbow. While she had managed, on a regular basis, to catch breakfast, lunch and supper, he had only been able to find rusted, weed-encrusted hunks of steel and a chewed up old boot.

She'd teased him about it, to the point that he had once tried to playfully push her into the icy cold water. She'd been too fast for him, but the laughter they had shared that day had uplifted both of them, reinforcing the strange bond they already shared.

Link still hadn't told her about the two men that had chased them, and she hadn't prodded him, despite the curiosity gnawing at her soul. It had been a week since they had left the Deku Tree and they had both become accustomed to each other's moods. Zelda had learned to recognise exactly when Link would be in a talkative mood and when he wanted to be left alone. In turn, Link had given her space in the odd moments when all she wanted to do was rest against a tree, staring into the sky and letting the rush of running water lull her to sleep.

In the distance, through the lines of twisted, moss covered trees, she could still make out the faint outlines of the waterfall, the moon's glistening light glossing over the foam with a silvery hue. The light couldn't quite catch the river itself, though, and it ebbed and flowed in a black, syrupy mass. She let her eyes return to the waterfall, seeing the spray sparkle, incandescent droplets that flickered, then died. "It's beautiful," she murmured, resting a hand on a nearby tree. The words had barely left her mouth when the ache began again. It was a familiar pain, one that she'd been trying to battle for the past for days. How many more chances would she get to see something as and simple and stunning as the sight before her?

As though reading her mind, Link said: "It is. Once this is all done and we've freed you from your… 'situation', I'll show you some places that will leave you awestruck."

Zelda let out a breath, wanting to utter a denial. His optimism was infectious, but misplaced. He'd already turned away, though.

She blinked, pondering. Time and again, her mind tortured her with all the things she would have to leave behind when all this was done. Time and again, she steeled her soul against those whisperings. She'd been brought up to believe in a better life for the righteous in the next world. Paralysing dread took flight in the face of such a comforting thought, filling her with both warmth and strength. There was just one murmur of disquiet, though – just how righteous _had_ she been?

Before she could let herself go down that path, a shimmer of movement caught her eye. Link, his black-clad form barely distinguishable from the night, peeled out from the darkness. "Come," he said, gesturing.

She followed him, ducking branches and feeling the grass, then the crumbling soil, crunch under her boots. Sometimes a stem, sticky with sap, would become caught in her tunic, stretch, bend, then snap backwards, caressing her harshly and reddening her skin. Finally they emerged into a clearing, the sky like a canopy above their heads, pierced with the twinkle of a million stars. The view almost took her breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. A light breeze blew, washing over her body refreshingly. She saw a small, squat stone building sitting at the centre of the clearing, like a lonely child long forgotten. Crudely made openings had been carved into the wall, and she saw Link take a peek inside.

"What is it?" she asked. He turned around and, for one instant where time seemed to freeze, he was caught in the moon's light, a pale blue outline tracing his body and flashing off of the metal from his crossbow. Her heart skipped a beat. Link, his face still cloaked in shadow, looked tall, imposing…and intimidating. There was strength there…and something else, too. A coldness, sometimes reflected in his eyes, that indicated that he could kill without the slightest hesitation. She'd seen it when he went hunting, casually snapping the necks of chaves as though it were the most natural action in the world. She'd seen it when they'd been running in fear from the men. Looking closer, Zelda saw the muscles under his tunic, remembered the practised ease in which he used his weapon and, just as in their earlier meetings, she felt a tremor of fear.

Again, he seemed to possess the uncanny ability to trace her thoughts. "I make you nervous, don't I?" he said. Genuine sadness floated in his voice, making her forget how impressed she felt with his perceptiveness. "I mean everything I say. I won't break my vow."

She held his gaze for a moment, watching his tunic flutter in the breeze. "I know," she said softly. Still a flame of doubt flickered in her heart. Surely he was only doing this because the Great Deku Tree had put him to it? That, and the fact that he had no one else left. Just like her. "I'm just sorry, that's all." She swallowed, looking up. The moon was full this night, a glowing pearl that clothed the land with a watery glow. Enough light to see clearly by. "If it weren't for me, you'd be able to devote your time in finding your sister."

"Like I said before," he replied. "_You_~"

"_No_," she said, taking a step forward. "I could never replace her in your heart. Don't pretend otherwise to yourself." He watched her carefully. "I wouldn't even _want_ you to do that."

There was a pause, then he turned back to step inside the small building. A hush fell upon them both. Zelda, briefly wondering if she'd somehow wounded his feelings, moved towards the stone house slowly. Finally, she heard him busy himself from within.

"This is a bandit Watch House," he called. "A safe place for them to rest temporarily. This one's abandoned. Perfect for us." Stepping out, he searched his travel pack, pulled something out, then went back in. Her eyes followed him, her mind finding it soothing to watch him work. And she _had_ to keep herself distracted. If not, then her traitorous thoughts would nudge and prod at her, trying to dissuade her, to make her reconsider. Logic and instinct were poison to her now. She had to _cling_ to the notion that the path she had chosen was the correct one, cling to the conviction that everything happened for the best, even if she couldn't see the wisdom of it herself. It was a belief that all children were taught throughout the land, regardless of their race. It was a belief that she needed intensely now, like iced water to parched lips.

His voice came again. "There's an outhouse on the other side." Peeking his head out, Link waved at the building. "Have a look."

She stepped inside, grimacing as the musty odour of decay floated over her. Her boots scraped on the stone floor as she shuffled further forward. Mothballs rolled from under her feet, disturbed by her movements. It was as simple and nondescript on the inside as it was on the outside. There was a small alcove built into the far wall, the stone licked black from what was obviously a place in which a fire was meant to burn. In one corner, Link had piled straw – no doubt already a permanent feature of the place - and dried, tangy scented leaves into a small mound. She smiled. A bed. Next to it, he'd left a pot and some food, bread and cheese, neatly wrapped in a cloth. She was touched.

Link slipped past her, dark shadows melting from his path – river animals that had dared to stray too far away from home. Zelda's eyes followed him out. She pressed her palm flat against the damp rock, felt the coolness spread through her fingers, and noticed Link stacking moss and twigs towards one end of the clearing. "What are you doing?"

He looked up briefly, not pausing in his work. "I'll be sleeping outside."

A smile came to her lips, unbidden. She wasn't used to the kind of gentlemanly behaviour Link was putting on display here. Though she'd had little time to consider such things when battling for her family, she knew that Link was a far cry from the few rough and uncouth boys that had crossed path in the past. Her heart fluttered, but she stilled it instantly, as though blowing out a candle. It didn't last when she realised, with a jolt, that he was building his bedding directly at the mouth of the glade. _He's putting himself between the entrance and me. The _only _entrance. _Her heart surged, trembling, and she had to fight to still the agitation within. She failed, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, a thought unfurled in her mind, a sudden itch of curiosity that she had to have satisfied. Zelda watched him a moment longer, then, with a deep breath, she plucked up the courage to ask: "Why are you really doing this?"

Link didn't miss a beat. "Doing what?"

"Helping me," she replied, her throat tight. She wasn't quite sure how much she really wanted to hear the reason.

This time Link did stop. "Leading you to your death is hardly 'help.'"

Tapping her fingers against rough stone, Zelda continued, "You could have refused, walked away. No one can make you do this." Her jaw clenched for a moment, trying to put her suspicions into words. "You don't _really_ care, do you? You don't care what happens to all those people in the future?"

A heartbeat passed. "No," he replied. "Why should I be concerned over the fate of people I've never met?"

A cold chill trickled through her veins. She felt numb. "Then?"

He winced, as though pondering over his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice was low and measured. "I need to know that loyalty and justice still exist in this accursed world. I don't need to _believe_, I need to _know._" He took a step forward. "I need to know if it exists within me." Another step. "As far as the world is concerned, it would be better off dead anyway."

She searched for the spark of anger in her heart. It didn't come. "You were willing to kill the Princess before you found out who I truly was." Though, as she'd confided to him on their journey, it was Zelda that had thought that the Tree had mistaken her name and was really referring to the Princess, Link still had been ready to kill _someone_ before she had been stripped of her disguise.

"I was willing to humour the weed," he said. "If I'd killed her and it had not meant anything, I would not have fretted over it." She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. "_However._ When we did find out it was you…well, then I realised it wasn't just a matter of one life over many. It was the matter of killing a living, breathing person that I knew. Things changed then."

Zelda wasn't convinced. "And the Princess isn't those things? A living, breathing person?" The anger was finally emerging, tearing through her heart and bubbling onto her tongue. "Hardly heroic talk."

"I never claimed to be a 'Hero."

"You _wish_ you were."

"How could _you_ possibly know what I want?"

They fell silent, the echo of their heated voices still reverberating in the air. Link was the first to speak. "I'm…sorry," he said. "I was confused. Troubled. The Tree's words – eventually - put everything into place for me. What I felt about the 'Princess' then, I don't feel now."

Zelda felt her cheek twitch. "What do you feel about her now, then?"

"I don't know her," he replied. "I don't know what I feel. I didn't even know it _was_ her I was supposed to kill, remember?" Twigs snapped under his boots. "But _you_ I do know, if only a little." His eyes met hers. "You're willing to give your life for others. That, in itself, is worth fighting for." As if unsure as to whether she'd believe him, he added: "Again, I'm sorry. I'm sure your Princess is just as brave and noble as you."

Confusion twisted Zelda's heart. She wanted to believe him, but she wasn't quite sure how sincere he was. Maybe _he_ wasn't even certain as to how much conviction lay behind his words. She nodded, a tacit acceptance of his apology.

Relief flowed across Link's features. "I still have a lot of things to set right, a lot of things to learn, a lot of…faith…to gain," he said. "I was taught to make my heart grow cold." He stared directly at her with an intensity that, though she was used to it by now, still both unnerved and thrilled her. "I don't believe that anymore."

The words made no sense to her, but the emotion fuelling them was clear. Zelda watched as Link continued to construct his bedding, the sharp edges of fallen bark scratching against his injured palms. He made no gesture that indicated that it bothered him. With a twinge in her heart, she strode towards him. "Here," she said, reaching for the twigs in his hands. "Let me."

He pulled away. Zelda looked at him, confused, noticing the indecision flickering in his eyes. Why was he being so stubborn over something as trivial as this? Had his ego taken offence? She cocked her head to the side, a question in her eyes.

"Smile for me, Zelda," he said.

She gasped, caught off guard by the request. Wanting to scowl instead, but unable to do so, she found the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. She looked down, feeling blood rush to her cheeks.

Link smiled in response, a broad grin that melted the tension from his face, and then handed the withered branches over to her. Zelda turned away quickly, moving towards to the centre of the clearing and –

- _and I see you now, Link. So close, I could curl the girl's hands around your throat and snap your neck. How ironic would that be, boy? Century after century after century you thwart my plans. Oh, I know it's not the same person every time. Don't think of me as a fool. But just to kill one of you just once…how sweet it would be. Then, finally, this world will be in my grasp and every man, woman and child will forever remember the name -_

"Zelda!"

She snapped back to reality at the sound of Link's urgent voice, her tunic clinging to her from the sweat that now coated her entire body, her heart booming in her chest. Gasping for breath, she waited until the world stopped spinning, her eyes growing wide when she saw the dagger clutched in her hand. Link leapt towards her, but she took an instinctive step back, digging her heel hard into the ground.

"What happened?" he demanded. "You looked like you were in a trance." His eyes dropped to her hand. "And then you drew your blade."

"I…I…" What could she tell him? She stumbled towards the Watch House, her head throbbing. "It's nothing. I'm just feeling a little dizzy."

"Zelda?" His tone was cautious.

"I'm fine," she said, finally taking one step inside. She was losing control. The thing inside her was growing – and it wanted to see Link dead. Ice-cold dread crystallised in her heart.

He shuffled his feet. "Are you sure?"

She snapped her head around. "I'm _fine._" Seeing his perplexed expression, she added softly, "I'm tired, Link. It's been a long journey. I need to sleep." She turned back to her small alcove, her voice amplifying as she took another step inside. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."

Link's reply was swift and thick with emotion. "I'm frightened _for_ you."

She paused, taking in a deep breath, but still not wanting to turn around fully. Then, she walked in completely, sinking to her knees on the soft straw.

"Someone approaches." It was Bannock's voice, watching from the trees like an invisible chaperone. Zelda closed her eyes. What now?

The rumble of hooves filled her ears. Quickly biting down all the fear she felt, Zelda darted outside. Chaos poured into their little clearing, in the form of chalk-white horses, spitting and neighing. Link was already there, weapon ready, snarling at the newcomers. There were too many, though – all riders on horseback, hair braided and crudely forged swords clinking from their belts. Lamps, tiny stars enclosed in glass, bounced from the saddles, giving off a metallic tinkle. Bowstrings hummed, and arrows flew, somehow striking the Glimmer Bird. With a yell, Link ran under him, catching him in his Glimmer capsule.

She tried to push forward, but they huddled around her, their horses kicking and snorting. Warm, fetid breath closed around her and she flinched, wincing. As soon as he saw her, Link sprang forward. A spinning shield, snatching traces of glowing blue moonlight off its polished surface, cut through the air, and Zelda opened her mouth to cry out to her friend – but it was too late. Distracted with the thought of protecting her, Link was caught unawares by the blow, and crumpled to the ground in a heap, his crossbow bouncing from his hand.

Zelda's heart lurched. She strode forward, hands falling to her daggers, teeth clenched. She didn't get far. With rattling hooves churning up soil, the riders blocked her path, flinty eyes gazing down at her without pity.

Two new riders approached as murmurs of congratulations spread around the clearing. Zelda's eyes dropped to Link's prone form and she swallowed, noticing the dark stain seeping through his fair hair. The two newcomers trotted to a halt, their more elaborate clothing identifying them as the leaders.

Zelda straightened her back, staring them down. "What do you want with us?" she demanded.

One of the riders, a slim man with hazelnut hair, dropped to the ground. "The question is, rather," he said, "what are _you_ doing on _our _territory?"

Zelda's gaze drifted to the other rider. It was clear from her gait and posture that she was a woman, a slender one at that. A slip of red hair flashed out from under her hood, and Zelda caught a glimpse of her face. She was quite the beauty. The woman came to a halt and leered down at Link, licking her lips. Zelda hated her instantly.

"Ah ha," the woman said, stroking the horse's mane. "A fine piece of meat for me, mister. Another notch on my bow, if you'll be excusing my meaning."

The man waved a hand impatiently. "Later, Malon." He gestured at the other men. "Tie the boy up. Take him back to camp."

Grinding his heel into the ground, he turned towards Zelda, his cheek twitching and his eyes filled with a disturbing mixture of cold arrogance and hot lust. She took a step back, disgust flooding her soul.

"And," he said, clicking his fingers. "Bring the girl…to me."

...

The Princess was gone.

The thought jabbed into Fran's soul like a heated spike. Nothing else mattered now. Not the blood congealing by his face, not the mud clinging to his skin. Not the gnawing pangs of hunger sinking into his stomach. Nothing. He'd lost the Princess.

He had no idea how long he'd lain there, unmoving. Days? Weeks? Sometimes he felt the warm sunlight – weakened from winter's chill bite – stroke his face. Sometimes he felt the icy breath of night prod at his back. His body ached, a shuddering pain that vibrated in every bone, nerve and sinew. He wasn't even sure what exactly had happened.

They'd left Sahasrahla's hut as a group to face whatever person or force that had disturbed the lake. They had barely set foot on the damp earth outside when a huge wave had careened into them, snapping their limbs back and pushing the air from their lungs. The Princess' screams had been smothered into watery gurgles, and the world had melted, shimmering between algae green and dark blue Suspended in the suffocating water, they had been batted to and fro by unseen forces.

Then the creatures had come. Scaly arms curling into jagged claws, they had ripped at Fran's skin, splashing blood. Once, he'd caught a faint glimpse of their faces; withered grey skin wrapped taut around thin flesh, their eyes had spilled crimson light that seemed to burn into the old man's soul. He'd lost sight of his friends as blow after blow came, jerking his head this way and that.

He'd fallen face first into the earth then, frozen with pain, the mud bubbling up against his skin. He couldn't sense any of the others, and his eyes were too puffed up for him to even see.

A voice had reached him then, scratchy, broken and dripping with hate. Three simple words had rolled off its tongue: "The Zoras return."

Darkness had numbed his senses then, sending him into a blissful sleep. He awoke occasionally, opening his mouth so that a few drops of dirty water could trickle onto his tongue. Now, after so long, he found he could finally move, though the effort sent splintering pains hurtling through his body, as though every vein had been filled with broken shards of glass.

He ignored it.

There was only one thing he had to do now, and it pushed at his soul, bringing him shakily to his feet.

He had to find the Princess. He had to find Zelda.

...

"Lady Malon regrets to inform you that she will not be joining you to greet the prisoner."

Hikirem Rusthammer nodded, pulled on his gloves, then turned to face the colossal oak door that led to the entrance of the dungeons. A massive steel bolt, the metal turning grainy brown from age, barred his path. Two guards flanked him, silent and radiating menace like a coiled snake. He sniffed, then shuffled forwards, his boots scraping against the polished floor.

"It's a good thing, too," he said, motioning to the guards to open the door. "If the King has sent an assassin into our lands then the situation must be very bleak indeed." In the background he heard the nervous giggle of a pair of serving girls. Naturally, the sight of seeing him had set their limbs trembling, streaked their cheeks crimson and filled their minds with lurid thoughts. Hikirem smacked his lips. It was a both a curse and a blessing to be clothed in flesh as superb as his. He'd have to find those girls later and give himself a good helping of the blessing.

The messenger shooed the girls away. A puzzled frown still hung from his wrinkled face. "I don't understand," he said. "I thought the Royal Assassins travelled in packs."

"They do," Hikirem replied, cracking his knuckles to release tension. He didn't know why, but this prospective encounter was making him very nervous. Why had the King made such a bold move? "This one…I don't know. I intend to find out. He was carrying an assassin's weapon."

"Perhaps," the messenger said thoughtfully. He was momentarily distracted as the door creaked open with a cavernous sigh, setting free a dank stench. Torchlights flickered, disturbed by the motion. Blinking, he continued, "Perhaps he stole the weapon. Killed an assassin and relieved him of the crossbow."

The notion had already crossed Hikirem's mind and had been dismissed. "Unlikely," he said. "He's just a boy. He couldn't have bested a trained assassin."

"But could such a youngster be an assassin himself?"

Steeling himself, Hikirem gestured at the guards, then stepped inside, a damp cloth automatically rising to his mouth to ward off the smell. "They take all sorts," he said, his voice muffled. "They have no morals, unlike our folk."

"And the girl?" the messenger called.

Hikirem paused. His distaste momentarily evaporated when he recalled the other prisoner. A familiar tingle bubbled within, his mouth instantly going dry. There was to be dessert to this particular meal. From a concealed passage hidden in the room she was secured in, he had watched her for hours. Unfortunately for him, all she had done was kneel, her eyes closed, serenity spreading over her face. What had she been doing? Praying? An acidic sting jabbed at his mouth. He certainly hoped she wasn't the religious type.

"Have her ready for me," he said, unable to keep the tremor of anticipation from his voice.

The messenger bowed, a stiff movement for someone used to keeping his back straight as a rod. "As you command."

The bandit King clenched his jaw. "My cloak, please."

Out of a shadows another servant appeared, folded silk in his arms. Stretching out his arms, he let the minion drape the rich material over his magnificent form, taking extra care not to touch him. It wouldn't do if a lesser being laid a finger on him. His body was nothing more than a chiselled gift to any and all women who crossed his path. _As the young girl will be finding out soon enough. _He smirked. Besides, he thought as he glanced down at the carefully tailored cloth, he had to look his best at all times.

Hikirem had to try and still his speeding heart as the three of them strode down the narrow passageway, their footsteps clicking in time. The air was damp here, discoloured drops of water falling from the cracked ceiling. True, the room wasn't a dungeon in the traditional sense of the word. It was a series of walls, into which had been nailed steel bonds from which to hang prisoners from. His eyes flicked from side to side, noticing the grime staining the walls, the deep red of dried blood, the thick crusts of other fluids, the vaguely human looking shapes imprinted into the granite with sweat. It almost brought a joyful tear to his eye.

The image of the female prisoner flashed in his mind. This was no time to let a girl distract him. He sighed instantly, knowing he didn't possess the willpower. This girl was so young. So fresh. Another spark of excitement flickered inside. He hoped he could get this over and done with, so that he could spend a little time with the other, more delicious prisoner. Sweat sprang up on his palms, and his breath dropped to shallow bursts. Perhaps he'd let Malon have the boy after all, though she had never before taken such interest in someone so young before.

There he was now, dangling from the wall, his chains tinkling slightly. It shouldn't take much to break him, considering his age. Hikirem sighed, ready to indulge in his second favourite pastime. He'd go through all the usual steps, of course. The whisper of lies, the silky, false promises. Then, when the prisoner had believed himself to have beaten the process, _then _would the torture begin. Sometimes he wished it wasn't so easy.

The boy's head snapped up as they approached. Hikirem felt his eye quiver slightly. How exactly had a Hylian become an assassin? He looked the boy up and down in silence. The lad glared back, defiant.

Taking in a deep breath, Hikirem began to speak. "Now," he said, swallowing to remove the sour taste from his mouth. "I need some information." He kept his stare solid. "It is not everyday that one finds a royal assassin on his lands." Pursing his lips, Hikirem held out his hands. "I could, of course, force what I need to know out of you. I have…various methods to assist me in that. _But." _He held up a finger. "But. I am not that cruel." He waited for a few breaths, before adding: "So I'm just going to ask you politely." Stepping forward until his eyes were level with the prisoner's, he said slowly, "_Why_ are you here?"

He took a deep breath, waiting for the brave denial he knew would be flying forth from the boy's lips any moment now. It was exquisite, this little game of strategy, this play where he controlled all the strings. He would reel out hope to the prisoner and – when he was least expecting it – snap the cord and let him plummet into despair. His heart trembled at the thought. He'd never once seen it fail.

The Hylian's pupils grew cold, as though turning to ice. "Where's Zelda?"

Hikirem blinked. "Excuse me?"

"_Where's Zelda_?" the boy repeated. His muscles tensed against his metal bonds, making the greasy hinges creak.

Licking his lips, Hikirem stepped back, frowning. "You mean the girl?"

"Let me see her."

Amusement tugged at the bandit's face. He hadn't expected this. Still. It made everything all that more spicy. "She's safe, I assure you." He let his tongue roll around the inside of his cheek. "_Very _safe."

Steel entered the boy's voice. "Then let me see her."

Hikirem laughed, glancing incredulously at his two guards. "You're hardly in a position to make demands, boy."

"I need to know that she's safe."

The bandit sighed. This _was _entertaining. "And how do you propose you're going to escape from my dungeon, hmm?" He flicked his eyes around the room. "By using your teeth and chewing your way free?"

"Yes," the Hylian replied, deadly serious. "If I have to."

Hikirem took a step back, reeling - as though he'd been dealt a blow - from intensity in the boy's tone. Clearing his throat, he composed himself quickly.

The boy stared at him, his eyes narrowing to dull slits. Hikirem felt the room contract, felt the heat from the lad's fury burn into him. Somewhere in the distance the bubbling murmur of his castle faded into a faint throb. He tasted copper on his tongue.

The Hylian spoke. "You can torture me from sunrise to sunset if you want." Each word was like a drop of molten magma blistering into the bandit's heart. "But I will escape. And I will find Zelda."

"I believe," Hikirem said, spinning around. "That this conversation is going to be rather fruitless. I'll be back later to see if you have come to your senses." He clicked his fingers, a gesture to the guards.

"Wait."

Hikirem stopped, his heart suddenly pumping all too quickly. He cocked his head slightly, a faint hope rising in his mind that the boy had seen sense. The brooding darkness in the Hylian's voice was not reassuring, however. No, not darkness, he realised with a catch in his throat. Madness. Pure, unadulterated insanity.

"What is it?"

"If you hurt her," the boy said, his voice nothing more than a harsh whisper that set free a sharp torrent of slow moving words, drained of the slightest blemish of human warmth. "I promise that I will tear the skin from your body, grind your bones under my feet, and then rip out your veins one by one."

With a screech of boot against stone, Hikirem strode away, finally releasing a breath that he'd kept painfully in. The bandit's mouth had gone completely dry, parched like a man trapped in the heat of the desert. As he reached the door, his hand began to tremble, the liquid venom in the lad's voice still staining his mind. He burst out into the passageway, gasping for breath as his skin prickled with cold, cold sweat.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Commander Kisho gazed out at the sea of glowing lights stretched out across the plain. Twilight was falling, and everything grew dim, casting shadows over the small tents, their coverings flapping in the wind. The breeze blew again, rustling the trees in front of their hiding place. Leaves hung from the branches here, indicating a different climate as they moved further and further away from the city.

"Bandit camp," Kisho said, sitting himself down on a boulder. "Status, please."

Rivero, standing at his side, brushed some dirt from his tunic. "It's a permanent camp." He waved outwards. "They even have a central building, around which the tents are pitched."

The Commander let out a breath, pondering. "How is it," he said, tearing into a tough roll of bread, "that two seasoned assassins like ourselves have been bested twice by Link and that girl."

Rivero sniffed, crouched, then picked up a tin water can and tapped it against Kisho's shoulder. The commander took it gingerly, his face wearing a mask of expectation.

"They got lucky, that's all," the big man growled. It was as though he didn't really want to talk about it. "Next time, we'll have them."

Kisho took a swig from the can, letting the gritty, cold liquid swish around his mouth. "I wonder," he said, his voice distant. "Maybe we're getting old." Weariness crept into his tone. "Maybe it's Assassin's Rot."

Grunting in response, Rivero started to pick at the crude bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Kisho smiled, amused at his friend's reluctance to speak.

"How's your arm?" the Commander asked.

"I'll live," the big man growled. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I'm used to having women throw sharp objects at me, _sir._"

Kisho chuckled, taking another sip from the can. "Link, Link, Link." He couldn't stop the pain well up from his heart and coat his tongue. A sigh threatened to burst free from his chest, but he closed his eyes, stilling it. _Let your heart grow cold._ How many times had he said those words to himself? How many times had he let them rock him to sleep in his cold, empty bed? "I never would have guessed that he'd turn out like this."

"Never trust a Hylian," Rivero replied, his voice icy. "That's what my mother always said."

"Really," the Commander said dryly. He leaned forward, the sharp air bringing water to his eyes, watching as the lights flickered into shimmering blurs. "I never made any distinction between races. A person is a person. He or she is judged on his actions."

"Then, with all due respect, _sir,_" Rivero said carefully, "you're very naïve."

The Commander laughed, not bothering to respond.

The big man's hands curled into his fists, the light in his eyes fading. "When I get my hands on him," he snarled, "I'll show him a whole world of pain."

Kisho shuffled, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "No."

"No?" Rivero's head snapped towards him. "_No_?"

The Commander swallowed, trying to order his thoughts. He had to be careful here. Though he was the commanding officer, he knew that his old friend required a tight hand in order to be guided. "I'm no fool, Rivero," he said. "There's more than meets the eye here." He took in a deep breath. "When we find Link, I'd like to have a little word with him."

"What?" The big man was shaking now, as though unable and unwilling to push his anger away. "Even after all he's done? He killed Jonah! The word is that all the other squadrons are mocking us back home! Sir, this is _not_ wise."

"Regardless of all that," the Commander said dismissively, waving his hand. "I'm a fair man, Rivero. I want to hear Link's side of the story." He paused, a brief heartbeat of time. "I _need_ to hear it." He waited again, then said in a placating voice, "After that, we'll decide what to really do with him."

Before the big man could reply, Kisho sprang to his feet, pulling his Glimmer Capsule from his belt. He flung it to the ground, where it cracked open, revealing the golden form of his Bird, Stannich.

"What's happening?" the Commander asked, the liquid molten form of the creature hurting his eyes in the near darkness.

The bird turned his head towards the camp. "I sense my nest brother, Bannock. He is in distress, unable to flee."

Kisho rubbed his chin, the bristles there scratching his skin. They'd been using the bird's innate abilities to track their prey. On some deep, instinctual level, Glimmer Birds possessed the capability to detect others of their species nearby. Stannich was the only one of few Glimmer Birds that had honed this particular skill to such a razor-sharp degree. "They've been captured, then." He waited, ideas flying around his head. Finally, he looked down at his companion. "What do you say, Rivero?" he said. "Let's regain our lost honour. Let's show the world how dangerous we really are."

Rivero raised an eyebrow, a cruel grin slowly spreading across his face. "Two assassins against a whole camp of bandits?"

Smiling in response, the Commander nodded. The wind blew again, scattering twigs and small stones.

The big man chuckled, flicking the ignition switch on his crossbow. 'I'd say," he said, standing as the steady hum of his weapon filled the air. "I'd say I'd like that very much."

...

Lady Malon Rusthammer made her way down the spiralling staircase that led to the dungeon, her heels tapping on each stone step, the hem of her skirt swishing around her legs. Torches hung on the wall, the flames curling light around the corners, stretched like molten fingers reaching into the darkness. As she passed by each sputtering fire, heat would blossom upon her face momentarily, then grow ice cold, then blossom up once more. It didn't bother her. A different type of heat, hungry and impatient, raged her in heart.

She'd once been known as Malon of Lon, a small village sitting west of the camp. Then the bandits had come, tearing through her home like heated blades, killing, capturing and looting. She'd been one of the captives, and the Bandit King, Hikirem Rusthammer had claimed her as his own, giving her his own family name. At first, she had been stricken, hoping to sink in a mire of grief and wishing bitterly to die. Then, she had grown familiar with life on the camp, gradually mingling with the others and picking up their ways. Slowly, she merged into their day-to-day lives, until she had become woven into the fabric of their existence.

She'd heard stories before; tales of captured women who grew to fall in love with their captors. She'd scoffed at them, but slowly she realised that what she had mocked in others was fast becoming a reality with her. Learning quickly how to make herself beloved to her new master, she had risen in the ranks, past further than any of the myriad other women Hikirem had under his thumb. It was the very knowledge of those other women that had cracked her. But, instead of snapping like a reed in the wind, she grew proud and kept her back straight. She realised that if she couldn't have Hikirem's love, she'd just have to satisfy herself in other ways.

Now she was the Lady of the land, dressed in the finest silks, dining on the sweetest delicacies. Her songs filled the night air, bringing any who heard them to a mesmerised halt, much to Hikirem's annoyance. By day, she tended to the various animals that roamed around the camp, preferring their company to that of the vicious, envy-coated tongues of the other women. By night, though…by night, she was fond of more…_interesting_ pleasures.

The thought sparked the flint of desire in her heart, and her mouth curled, the tingle of anticipation making her shudder as she came to a halt in front of the dungeon's door. She knew where Hikirem would be this night. He'd be showering that girl with sweet words, in the hope that she would wilt under his charm. He could do what he wanted. Malon had her own entertainment. She began to hum as her expectation grew.

"Open the door," she said, facing the two guards. If they found her request unusual, they didn't show it. They knew better than to question her orders.

The bolt was released with a tug and a clank, and Malon stepped in, letting the warmth wrap around her like a cloak. Her anticipation grew as she drew closer, a thrill that made her heart tremble. Mouth drying as her eyes fell upon the prisoner, she slowed to a stop, gazing. The Hylian was young, his face catching her breath with its angled beauty, though his eyes betrayed the weight of some sort of hidden burden. Delicious. She wondered how long it would take for her to soothe his turmoil. He'd probably beg her to return night after night.

Malon flinched as the boy's ocean-like eyes pierced into her.

"Let me go." His voice was raspy, broken, yet earnestly insistent, and Malon had to stop herself from stepping forward and unclasping his bonds. Pity prodded her heart, but she pushed it away instantly. She'd long since given up being moved by emotion.

"I'll let you go, darling," she said, resting the tip of her tongue on her lower lip. She found her breathing getting heavier. "If you'll do a little…favour for me."

The Hylian watched her without comment. A cold smile stretched across her face. She preferred the quiet ones, all mysterious and wracked with inner torment. A drop of water fell from the ceiling, the splash echoing through the darkened room. Malon ignored it, not wanting to be distracted.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Link."

She stepped forward, swaying, her eyes not leaving his face. "That's an interesting name, mister." Stopping in front of him, she leaned forward so that she could let him feel her breath on his skin. His eyes grew wide, and Malon grinned. She had him now. "I am the Lady Malon. Consider me your…_generous_ hostess, if you'll be understanding my meaning." Heat flashed through her body. She knew how young men thought, knew he wouldn't be able to resist the combination of authority, experience and invitation that she was laying at his feet here. Pulling at the collar of her dress, she hoped that this would be a very long night.

"What is it you want?" he asked, his gaze dropping to the floor. Malon blinked, uncertainty creasing her face. What game was he playing here?

"Why," she said, "I'm here to set you free." Curling a lock of his hair around her finger, she took a step forward, her heel scraping on the stone under her feet. "You just have to…let _yourself_ go first."

His head snapped up. "I'm not interested."

Malon flinched, the heat draining from her face, cold fury rising in her veins. "What do you mean?" she snapped. She felt as though she'd been slapped, so unused she was to being rejected. It reminded her too much of her time with the bandits, especially her pathetic, girlish attempts to win Hikirem's heart, and that just tore the thin skin from the pain that she kept locked inside. "Don't you like women?" A sudden thought flashed in her mind. "You're not…you're not some kind of a _fairy boy_, are you?"

The Hylian glared at her.

Taking a deep breath, Malon tried again. "Don't worry," she said, honey lacing her voice. "I've managed to…_convert_…fairy boys before." She let one hand rest on the wooden plate at one side of his head. "They just hadn't met a real woman before, that's all." Her other hand came to rest on the other side, his face now directly in front of hers. She gasped again, her head spinning from his beauty. She felt the moss under her fingers, prickling her skin. Her lips parted, her heart thudding, and she leaned forward slowly, eyelids drooping.

"If you value your life," he growled. "You'll not move an inch closer."

She stepped back, hissing as her eyes flung open. "Let a girl down gently, why don't you?"

"Malon!" She cocked her head to one side as Hikirem's voice echoed from the outside. Her cheek twitched as she tried to still the anger bubbling under her skin.

"Duty calls," she muttered.

Malon let her gaze linger on his face for one last moment, before snorting in frustrated disgust. She spun on her heel, her skirt swirling, and strode off angrily, two words flying from under her breath: "_Fairy boy!"_

...

"Why doesn't he just kill us?"

Mystral looked up at the sound of the King's weary voice. Her arms hugging her knees, she saw the deep, dark holes that passed for Montero's eyes now, ever since the day they had all watched Servion slaughter his father. His face was haggard, his hair untamed. For some reason, though she wished she didn't, she felt a stab of compassion in her heart. It was her nature, she knew, to reach out to others. Sometimes, though, she wanted she could be a little bit more selective.

They were back in their cells now, separated once again according to gender. Impa slept on the floor, and Anju lay back against a wall, cradling her snoozing child. Mystral assumed that it must be night outside, though she couldn't really tell. Sleep didn't come to her, though. As soon as she closed her eyes, Link's face would appear, not as it was now, but when he was fresh and innocent in his childhood days. The pain would always shock her awake. It was worse than when she lost her parents. Now she was truly alone.

Kafei stirred from the other cell. "Who knows?" he said, his voice burdened with bitterness. "Perhaps one of us holds the Triforce of Wisdom?" He chuckled, a harsh sound, though no one else joined in.

"Escape," the King said, his voice drifting. "We must escape."

Mystral swallowed, trying to loosen her constricted throat. She hoped the Gerudo wasn't going to succumb to madness.

No one spoke, the only sound they could hear being the slow rhythm of their breathing. The baby shuffled in Anju's arms, yawned, then settled back to sleep. The tiny movements brought a smile to Mystral's face. Her eyes fell to the stained, metal plates on the floor, the crumbling remains of their meagre supper lying there, cold and untouched. Hunger didn't tug at her, however. Her appetite had left at the same time as her need for rest.

The temperature dropped. Mystral was suddenly aware that the King was staring directly at her.

"Your brother," he said, his tone thick. "You know he's the 'Hero' that my father spoke of, don't you?"

Mystral jerked, ice running in her veins. "No," she breathed. She hoped it wasn't true. If Servion would treat Ganondorf Dragmire so brutally, what would he do to Link? How could anyone do that to another person anyway? She shuddered.

A frosty smile crossed the King's lips, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "He is," Montero said. "That's why we got rid of him."

Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her spinning thoughts. "Link isn't a hero. He's a young man that your father twisted for his own purposes." Heat boiled in her heart. "He'll come back. And he'll be safe. And he'll live a proper life," her words became frantic and muddled, "And marry. And have a family. And he'll be _happy._"

The King laughed. "It's too late for daydreams, don't you think?"

She fixed him with a hot stare. "Where is he now?"

"I don't know," Montero said, sighing. "I doubt Servion has found him yet. Or else he'd look a lot happier."

"And the Triforce of Courage?" she said, flicking a glance at Kafei. "Is it…one of us?"

The King shrugged. "We never found out where it was."

Kafei piped in. "And we never will."

Montero turned to him, a dark glimmer in his eyes. "Listen." He leaned forward, licking his lips. "Both of you, listen."

Mystral found that she didn't really want to pay attention to the man. No matter what he'd gone through, what gave him the right to shatter her hopes? Anger made her cheeks twitch. His words danced around her mind, and she dug her fingers into her skirt, desperately wishing that her hands could curl around his neck. Closing her eyes, she let out a breath. She'd never let her temper get the better of her before. Her heart cooled, chilling her skin.

The King went on. "They come twice a day. Morning and evening." He glanced at them both, making sure they were listening. "They unlock both cells. Then, while one watches with his hand on the lock, the other pushes food into the women's cell. After that, we men get our slop. They lock the cells and leave."

"So?" Kafei asked.

"So?" the King repeated, his face wearing an incredulous expression. "_So?" _His jaw tensed. "For one brief moment – when they push the food into the women's cells – both guards turn their attention away from us." A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. "That's when we strike."

Kafei blinked. "Assuming we do get past the armed guards," he said sourly. "Where would we go? We'd be captured instantly."

The King's eyes glowered in the darkness. "Would you prefer to stay here?" Before the Hylian could reply, he added, "This is my castle. I know every inch of it. More than these usurpers." He grinned. "I'll find us a way out."

Mystral's heart tightened. Hope ignited, flickered, then flared. In mere moments the King had pulled her down into murky despair, then flung her into the heady heights of bright optimism. She shook her head, amazed at how he'd affected her.

Kafei spoke. "I'm not willing to jeopardise my son over such a risky venture."

"I am." They all turned to the sound of Anju's soft voice. She blinked. "I'm willing to – if only to know that he won't rot in this horrible place."

Her husband stepped forward. "You can't make a decision like this. We both have to agree."

Mystral, from the corner of her eye, saw the King's face crease in amusement as Anju got to her feet. "Since when has following _your_ decisions ever got us into anything except the direst of circumstances?"

"No," Kafei said firmly. "We're not going through with this."

Anju's eyes flashed. "Then you can stay." She looked at the King. "At dawn, Your Highness?"

The King bowed his head. "At dawn." Mystral saw the respect grow in the man's eyes. It troubled her to see the couple fighting like this. Though she knew that marriage was not always a smooth sailing ship, she'd always been taught that all disagreements should be kept intensely private.

Kafei snarled, looking flustered. "You're all mad." He looked at Mystral. "What do you think?"

She gazed back, letting her face shift into the stern expression that she'd always used when Link had misbehaved. "It would be madness to stay," she said, then glanced at the other two. "I'm willing as well."

"Fine," Kafei said, sighing. "Let's do it."

The King smiled. "Wake Impa," he said, rubbing his hands. "We have to prepare."

...

Hikirem, his tunic clinging to his skin, fidgeted in his seat, not noticing the servants rushing around his table, setting food and large jugs of juice, the ruby coloured liquid sloshing over the edge. At any other time he would've been furious at such a lapse, but not tonight. His mind was still plagued with thoughts about the Hylian boy. It was strange that, despite being safely locked away in the dungeon, the lad could affect him so drastically. The pieces of the puzzle may have eluded him, but he did know one thing. There must be something about the girl - something unique - that could provoke such a reaction from the lad.

His eyes flicked up as the double doors to his dining chamber opened. Malon stepped in, eyes pinched and cheeks flushed. He frowned, wondering where exactly she'd been. She threw him a heated glance, offering no words, and took her place, leaning against the far wall. Hikirem sniffed, briefly considering asking for an explanation, then deciding against it. He blinked as more food was brought, the citrus tang of freshly sliced fruit and the spicy aroma of honey-roasted meat drifting in the air. The girl would be hungry, he knew, and this feast would be his first step towards sinking his touch into her heart.

The room itself was another lavish display of his wealth. White washed walls, engraved with intricate floral patterns, cocooned marble pillars joined at the top by pointed, gold plated arches. The scent of thick incense and subtle rose hung in the air, mixing with the fragrance of cooked food. Hikirem felt a bolt of iron clad certainty in his heart. She wouldn't be able to resist this.

As if on cue, she appeared, pushed along by a pair of guards. Hikirem sat up straight, pulling on his tunic and letting an easy smile cross his face. His eyes dropped to the single, scarlet-hued dagger that hung at her waist. They'd managed to remove all her other knives, but when they had attempted to take that particular blade she had fought them, clawing and biting. In the end, he had let her keep it. What harm could she do with just one small weapon?

The girl – Zelda, that was her name – stopped short in the middle of the room, her eyes gazing around carefully. Obviously, she was impressed. Again, Hikirem felt his body tingle just looking at her. So young. Still, however, he couldn't guess what was quite so special about her. He flexed his fingers, his mind searching for the most appropriate thing to say. This was a game to him, a subtle dance that usually ended with a sweet victory. He just needed a good opening gambit. At last, something came to him, his smile growing wider. He opened his mouth, flooding his voice with as much charm as possible and –

"Where's Link?'

Hikirem closed his eyes, his head throbbing. This could not _possibly_ be happening. Eyelids opening, he saw her move to speak again and sharply held up a hand.

"Wait," he said, rubbing his forehead. ""Let me guess. You wish to see him, correct?"

Zelda straightened her back, folding her arms across her chest regally while her cool, sapphire eyes flashed dangerously. "Bring him to me."

The bandit King gaped. The insolence of the girl! He saw Malon smirking from the corner of his eye and had to keep himself from snarling.

"And who exactly is commanding this in my very own land?" he asked, a hint of a threat curling around the words.

The girl kept her gaze on him, not flinching in the least. "I am…_Princess_…Zelda Harkinian."

Hikirem waved a hand. "I've never heard of you." He glanced at Malon. "You hear that? She's a 'Princess.'"

The Lady Rusthammer stepped forward, smirking. "She doesn't look like royalty to me," she said, her eyes scanning the girl up and down. "She doesn't carry herself like me. She doesn't seem used to the finer things in life like me." A cold light flashed in her eyes. "You know…I had a very good time with your boy. Very…sweet."

Zelda didn't look impressed. "I find that very hard to believe."

"Oh?" Malon replied, features twisting into a scowl. "What makes you say that?"

"Link isn't that weak."

Striding up to the girl, Malon snarled, "And what's so extraordinarily wonderful about you, then?" She took a step back, as though examining her. "Thin as a waif. Unhealthy skin," her eyes dropped to Zelda's chest, "_flat._" She scrutinised her with a careful gaze. "It's your hair, isn't it? That's what they all like. And, even then, you keep it hidden under that veil." Her hand reached forward towards the headpiece.

"Don't touch me," Zelda said, stepping back.

"You deny yourself a lot of pleasure, if you'll be following my indication, with an attitude like that."

"You're sick people. All of you. May the One, Unseen curse you all."

Malon's eyes narrowed. "Bitch."

Zelda's mouth twitched. "Harlot."

"_Ladies,"_ Hikirem held out his palms, an appeal for calm. Usually he would have enjoyed such a spectacle. But then, that was when he was witnessing women fighting over _him._ He cleared his throat. "Tell me, 'Princess'," he said. "Why is it that you're travelling with a Dragmire Royal Assassin?"

The girl's face crumpled in shock. "_What_?"

"Ah." Hikirem knitted his fingers together, leaning forward. The sense of victory simmered in his heart. "_Ah._" A chuckle left his lips. "You didn't know, did you?" His grin grew wider. "You didn't know he was an assassin, did you?"

"You're lying."

He cocked his head to one side. "Am I?" He picked up a bowl. "Fruit?"

Zelda stared at him, her jaw clenched. Malon snickered from the shadows.

"You see, his crossbow," Hikirem continued, glee flowing through his soul, "It's an assassin's weapon." He took a bite from a piece of fruit, considered it for a moment as juice trickled down his chin, then threw it over his shoulder. "How long have you known the boy?"

The girl maintained her stony silence.

The bandit King smirked. "Not long, I gather?" An idea began to form in his mind. "The follies of youthful love."

"It's not like that," Zelda said finally. "He's my friend."

"Of _course_ he is." He watched her for a moment. Silence hung in the air between them. Hikirem needed to push his advantage now, while it was still within his grasp. The piled up platters of richly cooked food held no interest for him now. He always became agitated like this whenever an idea teased him. It sunk its claws into him, not willing to let go until he'd seen it through to the end. "Let's find out how good a friend he is, shall we?" He clicked his fingers. A servant appeared at his side. "Bring the prisoner to me." The servant nodded, gliding away.

Zelda swallowed, her face trembling. A cruel spark flashed in Hikirem's eyes. If he thought the two women fighting was entertainment, he could barely wait to see what these two 'friends' would provide him with. "Let's bring your 'Link' here," he said, fixing her with an icy stare. "And ask him directly."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

They still had Zelda.

Therefore, they all had to die.

The simple equation rolled around Link's mind as he felt the guards release his bonds. He slid to the ground, dank water splashing under his knees. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and tried to still his thoughts. He focused inward, searching for the peaceful centre of his heart. Faith. That's what Zelda said he had to have. Letting the outside world fade from his senses, he looked for that spark inside him, that connection between this world and the next. _There._ A presence, something quietly powerful, yet still far beyond him, caressed his heart, filling his weary veins with strength and soothing his battered soul. It was something he hadn't done since he'd been a child. He realised, after a moment's reflection, that his assassins training had burnt it from him and yet, truly, it had never really left him. His heart pulsed with life, his vision sharpening with crystal clarity. He was ready.

"Up," one of the guards barked.

Slowly Link rose, his gaze sweeping the area quickly and taking in his surroundings. His limbs tingled as the blood rushed back. He controlled it, falling back on one of the more useful skills that he had learned as an assassin. He hadn't been idle while hanging from that wall, hadn't let himself grow bored while the grit of the stone had stabbed into his back. He'd barely moved, slowing both his heart and his breathing, a trick that helped to preserve his energy. Not knowing how long he was going to stay there, he'd forced his mind to crystallise around one thing in order to keep his sanity. All it took was a single image, a happy memory or a passionate ideal. He'd found all three – Zelda's deep blue eyes had accompanied him, shining in the darkness.

He blinked, his mind reviewing what he'd learned in the passing few heartbeats. There were two guards, both carrying swords. Only two. Link's lips curled into a cold smile. They'd underestimated him. Their mistake.

"Move." They prodded him, one ahead, one behind. Briefly, he wondered where they were taking him, then, after a moment's consideration, Link decided that he didn't really care. Approaching the door, the young Hylian noticed that the massive oak frame was both unlocked and wide open. He peered ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone else in the passageway outside. There was no one. It was time to act.

One step. Another. Torchlight pooled at his feet, like molten flame streaking across the ground. Another step. A slip, a scuff of boots on stone, then a stumble, as though accidental. Link tumbled into the guard ahead of him, tensing the muscles in his arms. The guard lurched, hissing, and Link shoved, creating a small gap between himself and the man. It was enough.

Twin metallic breaths sighed as blades were drawn. Link held his ground, dirty water spattering under his feet, and calmed his heart. "Idiot," he spat. "Watch where you're going."

The guard ahead bared his teeth, eyes flaring. Just as Link had expected. The bandit swung, a wide arc aimed at the assassin's head, and Link ducked, feeling a rush of energy through his body. He caught the anguished gurgle of the guard behind him as the sword sliced through the man's chest. The first guard's jaw fell open in surprise, watching his companion stagger back, then slump to the floor unconscious, blade clattering. Link saw that the fallen man was still breathing. Obviously, the shock of the blow had numbed his mind. Coward.

With liquid speed Link thrust his hand up, curled his fingers around the other guard's sword wrist and twisted, until a wet snap rang out in the chamber. The man gasped in pain, his eyes growing wide, pupils bulging in a sea of whiteness. Still holding onto the bandit's damaged limb, Link jutted his elbow into the man's chest, pushing him back against the wall.

The assassin leaned closer. "The armoury," he whispered. "Where is it?"

The guard trembled, his mouth opening and closing.

Link squeezed down on the man's wrist. "Tell me," he said. "And I'll let you live."

Gritting his teeth against the pain, the guard nodded vigorously. Link loosened his grip.

"Right from this chamber," the man gasped. "Then left, then left, then right again."

Link's palm flew up, slamming into the guard's jaw. "Much obliged," he said, watching the bandit slither to the ground.

He stepped down hard onto the sword's hilt. In a hail of sparks, it flew spinning into the air, and Link swiped it into his hand. Glancing at it, he pondered, the bodies of the two fallen men still at the corner of his vision. Temptation tugged at him. It would be so easy, he thought. Two quick swipes, the satisfying gush of hot blood seeping between his fingers. Who would know? The image of Zelda's face and the sound of her voice entered his mind. No, he decided. He'd resisted the red-haired woman and he could resist this, too. Despite his earlier promise, these two wouldn't have to die. They were down, beaten. He'd only kill those who were a direct threat. Or those, he added as ice trickled in his heart, that had hurt Zelda.

Melting into the shadows of the passageway outside, he quietly closed the door behind him, his eyes darting left and right. Still no one appeared. Unusual. Were they all preoccupied with something else? Facing right, he began to walk forwards, his footsteps barely making a whisper of noise, another trait courtesy of the Assassins League. He felt no fear. Gentle serenity swam in his heart. He felt protected, as though the One, Unseen Himself was cradling him. Link trusted in the feeling, turning left down another corridor, and then turning left again.

He passed windows here, and orange light danced against the glass. He caught his flickering reflection, saw his own diamond-hard eyes, and looked away quickly. Muffled shouts drifted from the outside. There was some sort of commotion – a fire, or something similar. Link paused, frowning, a sour taste spreading across his tongue. To start a fire was an assassin's trick. Distract the victim through smoke and panic. Still no trepidation touched him. If Kisho and Rivero had tracked Link here, then he'd just have to use their actions to his advantage.

He tested the air with his blade, slicing and chopping, the steel shimmering in fluid blurs. Rounding the final corner, he slowed, spying the doors of the armoury ahead of him. Licking his lips in expectation, he tapped gently against the wood, and it shuddered in response, spraying dust into the air. The doors were locked.

Stepping back, he took in a deep breath, then launched himself forward. The doors splintered open, hinges screaming. As the debris cleared from the air, he scanned the room quickly. It didn't take long. His modified Assassins League crossbow lay in one corner, encircled by Zelda's knives. His Glimmer capsule was there, too and it was the first thing he picked up after discarding the sword. Next, he tucked his friend's weapons into his belt, walked across to one of the shelves, then grabbed two quivers worth of arrows and strapped them to his back. He locked a handful into his crossbow and flicked the switch.

Link closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the weapon's hum soothing him like a mother's sweet whispers, the scent of the burning powder flowing over him, making his heart tremble. He wanted to stay there, forever wrapped in that deadly embrace. But no. He had to find Zelda.

"What are you doing in here?"

It was pure instinct. Link spun, swinging his arm up in one fluid movement, and fired. The arrow burned through the air, tore into the guard's shoulder and flung him against the far wall, knocking him cold. Link watched him for a moment, then strode forward, stepping over the prone body. Glancing around to see if he'd attracted any more attention, he dragged the guard back into the armoury. With one last sweep of the room, he stepped outside, closing the door behind him. It wouldn't shut, damaged as it was from Link's kick, so he left it slightly ajar, hoping the darkness would mask it from prying eyes.

He walked on, his eyes adjusting to the different shades of dimness. The cries from outside were becoming more urgent now, and he saw the watery silhouettes of the people, fleeing here and there. Reaching the next door, he checked the lock, found it open, and walked in. Lamps burned in this room, flames pluming up from pools of thick, acrid smelling oil. The carpets were thick and soft; so soft that his boots almost sunk into them. Paintings hung on some of the walls, landscapes from all over the world, frozen in time. Suspended from another wall were thick drapes, shimmering blood red.

_Zelda_. The thought flooded his heart, and spread out through his soul. He hissed. He was wasting time here. Searching through every single room would be time consuming and ultimately fruitless. Thoughts swirled in his mind. She clearly wasn't being held in the dungeons. She had to be somewhere else in the building – but where exactly? The longer he stayed here, the greater the risk grew of him being caught. He had to distract them here, then re-enter the building from some other point.

Reaching out, he grabbed one of the lamps, then flung it to the ground. The glass shattered, and the olive coloured oil oozed out, the stench rising into the air quickly. The fire flickered, following the fluid's path, then caught onto the carpet and spread, consuming everything in its path. He let his gaze linger on it for a moment, his skin warm, his heart cold. Striding past the rapidly rising flames, he stopped in front of one of the windows, ignoring the thick cloud of smoke trailing across his vision.

He aimed his crossbow at the window and fired. The arrow lodged itself dead centre, spreading a spider web of fractures across the glass. He fired again, and the window exploded out into a million glittering shards. With measured steps, he approached the opening as flecks of glowing ash began to rain down, singeing his tunic.

Leaping through the window, the young assassin took a sharp intake of breath as the sudden bite of the night air washed over him. He landed on his feet, the soft soil giving way under his boots. Chaos reigned. People ran, screaming, carrying their possessions in hastily wrapped bundles. Children wailed, men roared, and women cursed. Pockets of fire dotted the camp, tall flames evaporating into the night sky. Clouds loomed overhead, smudging the moonlight, some natural, some the offspring of the inferno below.

Link heard it instantly. The distant whine of discharged crossbows, the whisper of spinning arrows cutting through the air. Rivero and Kisho. It had to be. He couldn't see them, but it was obvious that they, like him, had become living shadows, striking from the dark. He froze, his heart finally murmuring with fear. They were looking for him, and they would tear down the camp just to find him. He should face them, end this once and for all, even if it resulted in his death.

_Zelda._ His mind focused, funnelling in on that one word, letting all other considerations burn away into pure nothingness. All that mattered was her.

A twig snapped, followed by a slight rustle of movement. Link twirled, swinging his crossbow up. A small figure huddled in the darkness. Frowning, Link stepped forward.

Pinpricks of fear gazed back at him, and the shape of a small, trembling child came into view. The boy whimpered, his eyes wide. Link thought he could actually see the child's heart thumping wildly from within his chest. The terror that stretched the boy's face like a parchment made Link feel nauseous. What had he become?

"Go," the assassin said, lifting his weapon. The boy ran, stumbling once or twice, before letting the night swallow him.

Link kept close to the building, watching the people scamper past him, oblivious as they were to his presence. The fabric of the tents curled as flames ate at them, giving off a sharp stench that almost watered his eyes. He sighed. Being outside was no better than being inside.

His heart caught as something snatched at his sight. A dark blur stretched across one of the dwellings in the distance. He recognised it immediately as the hulking form of Rivero. The big man had blended into the shadows, and no one but another assassin would have noticed him. Link watched, almost mesmerised, as the dark shape twisted and turn, obviously firing away. He could imagine the Calatian's glee as arrows split skin and shattered bone. Fury burned in Link's heart. They were a stain, these assassins, clinging to a life that they coldly took from others. Link felt dirty. He needed to be cleansed. He needed to be purified. A thought, solid steel in its certainty, touched his mind. It seemed as though he would have to face one of his former team-mates whether he wanted to or not.

He began walking, his eyes fixed on his prey, ignoring the broken pots and forgotten toys that cracked under his boots. With each beat of his heart, his anger grew stronger, building up and spreading through his body. The muscles in his cheeks clenched, and the taste of metal washed across his tongue. A breeze pulled at his face, but it couldn't dampen the heat in his soul. Regret, rage and guilt mixed to make an unholy concoction – one that could only be relieved with one pinpoint action.

Now running, Link weaved in and out of the mass of humanity, catching brief glimpses of their frightened expressions, and feeling their bodies brush past his in their rush. Closer and closer he drew, neither Rivero nor the Commander – wherever he was – noticing his approach. If either of them spotted him, he'd be dead. He had to do this, he knew. The assassins were a direct threat, and they would not stop chasing him until either he or they perished.

Link hissed, the throng of people closing in around him like a fist, a never-ending stream of arms, legs and faces. Sweat sprung on his brow as the waves of heat from the myriad fires radiated outwards. Panic pierced him. He was going to lose Rivero. Then the two assassins would find him, kill or capture him, and he'd never get to Zelda. The youngster grit his teeth, his breath growing shorter as the crowd loomed over him.

A gap suddenly appeared, like the hungry gasp of a drowning man just released from a watery prison, and Link wasted no time. He dived, the wind in his face, and rolled across the ground, bringing his crossbow to bear.

He fired once. Twice. Three times. _Crack. Crack. Crack._

Burnt powder settled on Link's hand, and the rosy afterglow of the ignited weapon scorched his eyes. Rivero's shadow jerked as each arrow ploughed into his body, his neck snapping grotesquely, like a puppet snapped from its strings.

An acidic emptiness coated Link's heart. He tried to shake it away. He'd never liked the big man anyway.

Link slipped away, darting back to the relative safety of the building. The Commander was still out there somewhere. Kisho would know instantly who was responsible. More people passed. They hadn't even noticed his actions, so absorbed they were in trying to preserve their own lives. Link found his eyes drawn to a green-haired young man, probably not much older than himself, running towards him in panic. Falling flat against the wall, Link stuck out his leg, and the man toppled to the ground.

In an instant, the young assassin was upon him, the razor-sharp tip of his arrow barely inches away from the man's face.

"Please," the man gasped, his body shuddering. "Please don't hurt me."

Link held his weapon at an angle so that he could see the bandit's face. "I'm looking for someone," he said, his voice quiet, but loaded with menace. "A girl was captured recently. I need to know where she is."

The man's breath grew shallow, sweat pouring down his face. Realisation struck him at that moment, and he seemingly knew that Link wasn't going to kill him. "I think I heard something about that, mister," he said. "I think the King has her in his dining chamber."

Link almost closed his eyes in relief. She was safe. "What's your name?"

"H-Harlequin Jack, mister," he replied. "At your service."

The Hylian stared at him for a heartbeat, his mind racing. "I have a proposition, Harlequin."

Jack nodded, the bulge in his throat bobbing up and down. "Name it."

"I say that I let you see another sun rise on another day," the assassin continued, "if you take me to the girl."

Again, Harlequin nodded, not even pausing to think. "Done."

Link stood up straight, pointing his weapon skywards. "Lead the way."

...

Impa sat cross-legged, her fingers knitted and resting on her lap. The others waited, too; waited for that telltale scrape of an unreleased bolt letting them know that it was feeding time. There was a sharper sense to her impatience, though. Twice she'd failed. She'd let the Harkinians mutilate the building and then, _and then_, she'd been unable to stop the Hylians from taking over. Anger boiled at the bottom of her stomach, shame taunting her every thought. She wasn't just supposed to be good at her job – she was supposed to be the best. How had everything collapsed so quickly?

For some reason, thoughts from her childhood drifted into her mind. She'd once lived in the Hylian Quarter, along with all the others; she even remembered a young Servion, who had been nothing more than a mean spirited bully. She'd never once felt any loyalty to her 'people,' though. Not even a glimmer of warmth came to her when she thought about her family. To her, people were people, and the only thing that she'd ever bothered with as a child was her thirst to fight.

She'd accepted any and all challenges, from both boys and girls, from both men and women. And she'd beaten them all.

When she'd reached adolescence, she'd begged her parents to let her enlist with the Castle's security guard. They'd refused, of course, aghast that their daughter would even think of such a thing. No, their daughter was going to sit at home, marry and have little babies, safe and sound from the evil world outside. Impa almost snorted at the thought. She'd run away eventually – not because she was truly unhappy at home, but because she was being prevented from doing what she'd really wanted. And, although she had found her way into the King's graces despite being a Hylian, she always advised against anyone else who wanted to take a similar path. It hadn't been an easy life, and she knew that many, many other people would have failed, breaking down by the wayside.

Impa looked up as she heard the shuffle of booted feet. She glanced at Montero, who gave a small nod in return. A faint tingle of anticipation ran in her veins.

The guards came into view, keys rattling and blades clinking. In their hands they carried tiny platters of food – dried bread and days old meat. Locks clicked and doors swung open with rusty creaks. Impa waited, watching, watching…

There! Both guards turned to face the women's cell and, in that briefest of moments, they struck.

Montero kicked, slamming the door into one of the guards. The other panicked, his eyes wide, and dropped his plate. Impa leapt forward, scooped up the fallen dish, and threw. It spun, sending food flying everywhere, and rammed into the man's windpipe. He fell to his knees, gagging, and clutched his throat. Impa walked up to him slowly, the taste of victory flowing in her soul like nectar. The man looked up at her, one hand falling to his waist, desperately trying to find the hilt of his sword. With a swift kick, Impa sent him careening across the passageway. His body twitched once, twice, then fell still.

"See?" the King said, straightening his tunic. "Easy."

Kafei grunted, brushing past him and running to the aid of his wife and child.

Impa knelt, unhooked one sword from one guard, then stood and did the same with the other man. "Here," she said, nodding at the King.

Montero grinned as he caught the blade.

Kafei stepped back into the passageway, Mystral, Anju and the baby behind him. "Don't I get one?"

Stepping past him with the briefest of glances, Impa said, "No."

"Quickly," the King said. "Before they realise what's happened."

Montero led the way, the women and Kafei trailing behind, while Impa brought up the rear, making sure no one would sneak up unawares. They went deeper into the dungeons; turning down twisting passageways, up flights of stairs and through damp tunnels that Impa didn't know even existed. That thought disturbed her – she was in charge of security, after all. The King walked with the confidence of one who was familiar with every nook and cranny of the castle, as though there was a map laid out in his head.

All of a sudden, Montero came to a stop. He gazed at the wall, though Impa could see nothing there that actually stood out as unusual. Pressing his face against the stone, he ran his fingers up and down the wall, cobwebs tearing under his touch. The others watched, confused. Then his hand came to a sudden stop, and a grin spread across his face. He pushed with his fingers. A deep click followed and, somewhere deep inside, a spring broke. A groan rumbled in the distance. With a crack and a breath of dust, the wall split open to reveal a darkened corridor.

"This," he said, his voice oozing with smugness, "is our way out."

Impa peered into the darkness. For a moment, everything was still. Then something slithered, a pair of crimson eyes winking into existence before vanishing. The others saw it, too.

"Mine!" she snarled, swinging her sword into an attack stance. A low growl followed, then a dark blur leapt into their path. Mystral screamed, and Kafei pulled Anju into the new passageway. Montero stepped back, panic in his eyes.

Impa swung, a sharp arc that ripped the air. She missed; the creature, whatever it was, moving far too quickly. "Get inside!" she hissed, turning so that her back was to the open doorway. Still she couldn't make out the animal's form. It seemed to shimmer and slide, like liquid darkness seeping across the floor. Breathing quickly, Impa waited, clasping the hilt with both hands.

The creature lay, as though asleep, except for the series of clicks that spat from whatever it was it had as a mouth.

She wasn't going to lose, she realised. She never lost.

As though waiting for a cue, the dark monster flew, claws and fangs shooting out from its body. Instinctively, Impa thrust her sword forwards. She caught it a glancing blow, felt hot fluid splatter on her hands. It could bleed, then. Spurred on by that thought, she swung again, missed, then followed through, thrusting once more, and skewered the thing against the wall. It gurgled in pain, and she twisted the hilt until the creature shuddered, then fell silent.

Glancing at the others, she saw the awe etched on their faces. Good. That's the way it should always be. A thin smile spread across her mouth.

"What if there are others?" Anju asked, her voice hushed.

Impa's eyes thinned to slits. "Not a problem."

She stepped into the hidden passageway, the door snapping shut behind them all with a resonating boom.

...

Zelda felt numb, a chill that spread through every fibre of her being with every beat of her heart. She knew that she should move. Arrows were flying in through the broken windows, the assault of unseen assailants. People were screaming, shouting. Smoke choked the air, blotting out the torches. All around her was a whirlpool of activity – guards peering through the blackness, their swords ready, flames licking at the walls, eager to devour everything within, barked commands rolling through the air. And yet, she felt nothing, standing still in the centre of the storm.

She saw the Bandit king at the head of the room, his face contorted red with fear and fury. "What's happening?" he bellowed. "What's going on?"

No one answered him, though his people rushed around, weapons suddenly appearing in their hands. The breeze tugged at her tunic, making the fabric flap. Zelda didn't care anymore. Let them all die. A jolt shook her in response to the thought. Something drained out from her heart – hope or compassion, she wasn't sure which.

She closed her eyes. Link – an assassin? A pit of emptiness opened at the bottom of her heart. Her family's sworn enemies. Her family's murderers. They'd hunted them from the moment the sun peeked up from the horizon through the moment it sank away pulling the light down with it, to the moment it returned with the fresh promise of a new day. Living in fear, huddled in the shelter of the safehouse, hushed whispers had told stories about the King's elite guard. They were men who had had human emotion torn from them at a young age. They were men that knew nothing except the joy of the kill, the power to end another's life thrilling the darkness in their soul. Simple feelings like love and kindness were alien to them. They lived only to satisfy the animal urges of their heart, being the only pastime that could briefly quench the emptiness that overwhelmed their lives.

But, Zelda thought, Link wasn't any of those things. Was he?

It made sense in a strange sort of way. Who else but an assassin would be able to drive the Warrior's sword through her heart? No tears came to her eyes. She'd left those behind with the Great Deku Tree. Bitterness blossomed from within, staining her mouth with an acid taste. She didn't want to rely on anyone; indeed, she'd spent her life making sure she didn't have to do just that. But she couldn't be the one to slay herself. Zelda needed Link. Needed him to kill her. At this moment in time, that seemed the most appealing notion in the whole world.

When she opened her eyes again, the world was splintered, covered with blood. She sensed the now familiar presence.

"_Kill him before he kills you,_" the voice droned. "_He would obviously have taken great delight in the task. After all, it's what he was trained to do._"

She bit her lip, disbelief creeping in her mind. No. No, something wasn't right. Her hand fell to her Oath Blade. Link didn't want to kill her, she was sure of that – but why hadn't he told her what he was? She shook her head, trying desperately to dislodge the voice's hooks from her soul. At the very least, Zelda knew she was, for the time being, safe in Link's company. She had to talk to him, find out what was really going on.

Zelda spun around as the double doors collapsed in a cloud of dust. Two shadows peeled out from the murkiness. One, she didn't recognise. The other, she did.

"You!" The bandit King's voice spat. "It's you they want, isn't it? There are assassins out there, it must be. And it's you they are after, isn't it?"

Her forehead creased automatically at the words. What was going on here? Assassins were pursuing Link?

The young Hylian, his face a mask of ice, strode into the room, aimed, and then fired.

Zelda's head jerked as her eyes followed the spinning mass of red hot metal and wood. The bandit King yelled, then ducked, the arrow splintering into the wall above his head, the tail still humming. She saw him scramble away, his minions crowding around him in a pathetic attempt at protection.

Turning, her gaze locked with Link's, and her heart spiked as his face melted with relief, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. He walked towards her, glass crunching under his boots, and it took all her willpower just to keep from stepping back. Her heart trembled as he approached. His beaming face, she noted surreally, made her gasp in awe. Her eyes fell on his crossbow – his assassin's crossbow – and the feeling was quickly snuffed out.

Stars streaked across her eyes as a vice like grip curled around her throat. A flash of red and the scent of heavy perfume told Zelda that it was the woman – Malon – who had grabbed her. Dimly, she heard the whine of Link's weapon grow louder. Terror gripped her heart. Through her blurry vision she saw his finger coil around the trigger.

"Don't be playin' games now, fairy boy," Malon said, a smirk in her voice. Zelda felt the woman's hot breath tingle her ear. "We both know you'll not fire while I have the little girly here."

Zelda clawed at Malon's arm. Her head throbbed, her pulse speeding to an unnatural degree. "He…" she gasped, "…_will_…fire!"

The crossbow's drone was vibrating through her skull now, and her heart skipped a beat, feeling certain that she'd hear the snap of a released arrow at any second. She felt Malon grow rigid, as though she too had realised what was about to happen and knew that she didn't have time to escape. With a snarl, Zelda brought her boot down on Malon's foot, then thrust her elbow into the woman's stomach. Malon let go, reeling back, and Zelda swung, her fist connecting with the bandit woman's jaw with a satisfying crunch. Zelda stepped back, watching Malon crumple to the ground.

In an instant Link was by her side, pushing something cold and hard into her hands. She looked down, seeing her knives. There were only four left and she'd have to find more soon.

The Hylian boy studied her for a moment. "Zelda," he said, the joy clear in his voice. "Are you alright?"

She held his gaze for a heartbeat, then said, "I'm not hurt." She felt uncomfortable, her eyes continually shifting to his weapon. "You?"

He flinched, clearly not knowing how to react to the abruptness in her voice. "I'm unharmed, too."

"Thank the One." The whispered words had come to her lips without thinking, and it was only at that moment that she realised how sincere she was. Confusion flashed painfully across her mind.

Link smiled again. "Go. Wait outside. I'll follow you soon." He turned to the other man. "Harlequin, stay with me."

The green haired bandit grimaced. "I thought the bargain was that I lead you here, _young _mister." He paused, staring. "I'm not fighting your battles for you."

"You don't have much choice," the Hylian continued. The heavy threat in his tone made Zelda wince. "I'll let you go when I've decided it's best to do so." He waited. "Friend."

Harlequin's eyes widened. "You point a weapon at my face, then march me in here." His movements grew more frantic. "And this makes me your friend?"

"What can I say?" Link said, attempting another smile. "I'm grateful."

"I can stay," Zelda interjected. "I don't need to be coddled like a child."

Link turned to her, his eyes swimming with unease. "No," he whispered. Again, she was struck by the sincerity in his words. "You don't need to prove your bravery to me." His voice dropped, so low that she had to lean forward to catch it. "If you stay here, they might hurt you and if they hurt you, I'll ~"

"Stop." It was as though a bolt of lightening had seared through her mind. She didn't want to hear what he was going to say next. "I'll go."

"Take a left," he continued. "Then go to the end of the corridor. The main gate is there. Wait for me."

Zelda turned to leave, then hesitated. "What is it that you're going to do?"

He glanced casually at the guards still milling around the broken windows. "I'll make sure we're not followed."

Liquid chill dripped onto her heart. "Link," she said, standing firm. "Let them live."

"But~"

"_Please_."

A shadow fell across his face. "I was planning to, anyway."

Nodding, she left the chamber, turning left as Link had instructed. Smothered screams echoed from the outside, and she slowed down automatically. She heard her own breaths, hissing and sighing. When, exactly, had the world gone completely insane? A blanket of pure loneliness enshrouded her at that moment, and she felt tiny, a speck of dust caught in the winds of fate.

She almost turned back. Whatever else he may, Link was still a familiar face in a world that was becoming increasingly alien with each passing moment. "I am Zelda Harkinian." The words tripped off her tongue, though she wasn't quite sure why she'd said them. Perhaps the echo of her own voice was the only thing that had sounded remotely human in the past few hours. "I am Zelda Harkinian," she whispered. "And I must die so that the world may live."

There. It was out. The very words that had prodded at the corners of her consciousness for the past week had now finally formed on her lips. A heavy burden, rushing like a torrent of rain, fell upon her heart, almost bringing her to her knees. She steeled herself, fighting it. "But," she gasped, her limbs trembling. "I will not break." Salt water flowed down her face and flooded her mouth. Her fists clenched. "I'll gladly go back to the One, Unseen, purified and free." Images slid across her mind: Kafei, the bandit King, Link. "Which is more than I can say for most people."

"Brave words."

Zelda's head snapped up, and she saw Malon before her, the woman's face swollen and purple. Before she could even react, or even guess how the bandit had crept up on her, Malon blew some sort of dust, sparkling gold and scented jasmine, into her face. Head spinning, Zelda stumbled backwards, her skin prickling with heat.

Malon stepped forward. "I don't know who you are, little missy." Her voice swam in Zelda's mind, sounding slurred and stretched. "But it looks like my time here is done, if you'll be catching my hint." Blackness poured in at the corner of Zelda's vision, and the world slipped away as Malon's final words reached her. "So, I'm taking you with me. If you really are a 'Princess', then I'm sure I could find someone willing to buy you from me for the appropriate fee."

Zelda sank into the darkness, the bandit woman's laughter chasing her down.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Princess of Destiny, that's what they all called her. From the moment she'd taken her first breath, she'd known she was special, known she was unique. It had been drummed into her head at every opportunity, the late night gatherings with the Elders, the soft whispered words from her minders. Every time she'd passed anyone in the narrow, stuffy hallways of the safehouse, people had looked at her with an awe that she'd gradually gotten so used to that when anyone didn't look at her like that, she'd feel slighted. That was how she felt right now.

They stood in a small cavern, the air damp and the walls covered with some sort of shimmering fabric, like blue starlight burned into the rock. A pool of water glistened at their feet, clear enough that it could reflect their faces back at them in wavy, smeared images. Drops of water fell from the jagged ceiling, plopping into the pool with a splash that echoed so loud that it could've been mistaken for an explosion. The Princess could see them all in the pool's glossy sheen – the Twins, Sahasrahla, and the strange, grey creature that called itself a 'Zora'. Fran was the only one who was missing, and she briefly wondered what had happened to him, though she didn't have the courage to ask.

As usual, she stood apart from the rest. She knew that they thought it was because she was trying to preserve her modesty, or something similar. In truth, though, she hated them. Hated them all. Her role in her life wasn't the only thing that she'd had whispered into her ears as a child. The Harkinians had told her of the bitter hardships that had befallen them – the loss of their authority, the cruel torture that they that to endure when captured, the stripping of their dignity and livelihood. Their words had sparked the flame of anger in her heart and, though she always showered her family with compassion and kindness, she felt nothing but a dull fury towards every other person in the world, Hylian or otherwise. At the moment, however, she needed these people. The knowledge grated at her.

"Wear this," the Zora said.

Before the Princess could ask what the creature was referring to, she felt something clammy slam into her mouth, then begin to spread across her body. Her eyes widened, her heart thumping with fear, and she raised her hands, ready to tear the thing from her face.

The Zora's eyes flashed. "Calm down," it said. Its voice was light, almost musical. The Princess, letting herself relax somewhat, decided that it was a female.

The film of slime had wrapped itself around her now, feeling very much like a second skin. The Princess found that she could breathe relatively easily and, if she flexed her hands, she only felt the slightest touch of the substance against her fingers. She saw the others, also coated in the near-invisible ooze, gaze down at themselves in wonder. She glanced at Sahasrahla. The little man merely shrugged in return.

"What is this?" she asked.

The Zora said nothing. A crack echoed in the distance, like the snapping of a taut string. The Princess gasped as the walls split apart, and water, frothy and green, gushed into the chamber. The Twins spun, their eyes desperately searching for an exit. Only the small man and the Zora creature remained calm. Bracing herself, the Princess watched as the water pooled around her ankles, crept up to her waist, then rose to her neck. She felt nothing. Whatever it was that the Zora had coated them with was protecting them from the liquid.

Fear simmered in her heart as the water pounded against her ears, then engulfed her mouth. Closing her eyes automatically, the Princess realised that none of it had touched her tongue. The liquid slithered up her face, washed over the top of her head, then swallowed her whole.

The Zora spoke. "Welcome to our domain."

The Princess' eyes fluttered open, and she almost took a step back in shock. It wasn't enough that she could actually hear the creature despite being underwater, it wasn't enough that she didn't feel in the slightest bit affected by all the liquid; it was the sight before her that made her reel.

The cavern was gone, replaced by the shimmering curtains of water under the sea. The Princess guessed that that's where they had to be. Where else would such a thing stand? The Zoras had taken them days ago, covering their eyes and shackling their limbs. It was possible that they had travelled to the edge of the land in all that time. She had decided, despite the fact that they'd been travelling against their will, to see where the Zoras would lead them. Clearly, they didn't want her or the others dead. It had been a struggle for her to convey to the Twins not to attempt any escape, but she had managed it. Sahasrahla, she knew, thought the same as she did, and gave no hint that he wanted to flee. Yet.

Blurred lights stared at them through the thick mass of liquid. Tall, emerald buildings, constructed from corral and coated with seaweed, rose towards the smudged sunlight above. Some of the buildings changed colour, flowing from red to blue, then blossoming green at any given moment. Groups of Zoras swam here and there, leaving a froth of bubbles in their wake. Fish followed them, swiftly riding the currents of the sea, some gold, some silver, some in colours she had no name for. A city under the sea. A living, breathing city.

"You've been busy while you've been away," Sahasrahla said. The Princess, considering everything that had befallen them so far, felt no surprise in the face of the fact that he could talk underwater.

A hint of pride crossed the Zora's face. "We were always sovereigns of the sea," she said. "From here we strike back and reclaim the land."

"But why?" the small man asked. "You appear to have everything you need right here."

The Princess spoke up before the Zora could reply. "What makes you think you have any right to the land?" Anger ignited in her voice. Once she had her Hyrule back, she was not going to share it with anyone. "Others have claims, too. Older, more legitimate claims."

Gracefully, the sleek creature turned to the Princess, black eyes burning. "We know of you. We know of your family." She paused, her smooth skin betraying no hint of agitation. "That's why we brought you here."

"I don't require your help." Clenching her jaw, the Princess tried vainly to maintain an equal semblance of composure. Appearance, she knew, was everything. It was her demure appearance that made her so trustworthy to the others. What she expressed on the outside only hid the schemes of her heart. Princess of Destiny wasn't the only title she had. Inheritor of Wisdom was the other.

The Zora looked at her quizzically. "You can't take back the land on your own."

"It's _my_ land. I'll do with it as I please." Water bubbled by her face, and she noticed the others looking at her, Sahasrahla in particular, with odd expressions. She was already relying on too many people. Still. What did it matter? They could all aid her in bringing her the Throne. After that, she would discard them, especially those that didn't belong to her race. All she needed was to gain the loyalty of her fellow Hylians. It shouldn't be too hard. Once she'd found the 'Hero' and slain the King, the others would gratefully flung themselves at her feet. It all fit in her mind. It was all so…neat. "Forgive me," she said, looking at the sea creature. "You have something to offer?"

"Come," the Zora said, nodding before turning towards the city. "We have much to discuss."

...

"What is this place?"

Link craned his neck over the lip of the rise, peering down into the yawning chasm, a massive rip in the land as though some horrific force had torn the earth apart with its own hands. Jagged claws of crystal peeked out from the bed of the gorge, twisted, curling and coated in basalt, burnt black from some unknown explosion. Where Link stood now at the edge of the abyss, the ground was all cracked and charred, hairline fractures crisscrossing one another as though woven by a drunken seamstress.

At the centre of it all, hovering above the land silently, a massive, billowing cloud floated, churning and swelling like the rise and fall of a man's chest. Lightening flashed from within, not the incandescent blue that Link was used to, no; here were snatches of the deepest, liquid black, each appearance threatening to pull his soul into the gloom, each burst like the cut of a sword made entirely from dirty ice.

Link sensed Harlequin at his side. "This is the Valley of Perpetual Night," the young bandit said. An edge of smug superiority smudged his voice. Obviously he was pleased that he knew something that Link didn't. "Once we're under the cloud there we'll not see the sun again for quite a long time, mister. They say a castle once stood here, a relic of a dead royal family." He shuffled, almost hopping from one foot to another. Link had learned that whenever Jack was eager to spout off some nonsense he became very agitated. "I hope you're not afraid of the dark." With that, the bandit flung back his head and laughed, clutching his stomach.

Link ignored him, batting down the itch of irritation that buzzed at his heart. At first the bandit's constant chattering and inane comments had annoyed him no end, especially since he'd been tense with fury because of losing Zelda. Then, after a while, Link had adapted, using Harlequin's company as an opportunity to test his own patience.

The bandit camp, burned to cinders and ash, lay far behind them at the foot of the hill. Kisho had done a good job, single-handedly bringing the entire community down around their ears. Link would have even been impressed had he not had to recover from the draining shock that Zelda had gone missing. Dragging Harlequin out of the bandit King's fortress, they'd caught a glimpse of the red-haired bandit woman, fleeing hastily on a wobbly cart, Zelda snugly tied up in the back, unconscious and oblivious.

They'd tried to follow instantly, but the remaining bandits, dripping with anger and with hearts shattered, had barred their path, eager for revenge. It hadn't taken Link long to part the swelling mass of humanity, leaving only broken arrows and cold bodies in his trail. Grabbing Jack, the young assassin had demanded to know where Malon was taking Zelda. After much heated 'convincing' – none of it gentle – the bandit had revealed that there was a good possibility that she was heading for the slave trader camp nearby. With that, Link had made his way west, dragging Harlequin along as a guide.

Twinkles of hazy light winked from within the chasm. "There are settlements down there?" Link asked.

"The Lost," Harlequin replied, his tone suddenly sombre. "People who have nowhere else to go." A grim expression fell on his face, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They're a little…strange. They haven't seen the sunlight in so long."

Link digested the information without comment. It was strange that these people hadn't been covered in his assassins training. "The slave traders," he continued. "They're down there, too?"

"Plenty of people down there, mister," Jack replied. His voice seemed to echo slightly, rolling off the rocks and amplifying in the massive pit below. "Dangerous people." He turned to the Hylian, a glimmer in his eye. "Course, won't be a problem for someone as skilled as a Royal Assassin."

Link stayed silent. He didn't see any point in confirming or denying the bandit's musings. The more knowledge Harlequin had about him, the more power he would have, too. And Link certainly didn't want that. "We take the path, then." It wasn't a question. His eyes drifted to the narrow strip of rock that winded its way down to the chasm's floor. It looked dangerous. "Sure you can handle it?"

Harlequin shrugged, sniffing. "Not much choice, is there?" His eyes hardened, flooded with anger. "You're going to make me, anyway." He looked away, gazing back towards the distant remains of the bandit camp. "I lost everything back there. Friends, family. _My life._ Now, I'm here with you. The one partly responsible." Shaking his head, he grit his teeth, his chest heaving. "Fate's played a bloody twisted joke on me, hasn't it?"

Grief filled the bandit's voice. Link stood, his eyes still fixed on the Valley. If Zelda had been here, she would have tried to have comforted the young man. If Zelda had been here, she would have known exactly what to say. But she wasn't. So, instead, Link said, "Ready yourself. We go in. Now."

Jack held his ground, his fists clenching. "You know, Hikirem won't take this lying down. He's had everything he loved and worked for torn from him." His lip quivered as he spoke. "He'll be on our trail soon. He's lost it all and he won't be happy."

Link threw the bandit a disinterested glance. "My heart bleeds for him."

Moving swiftly, Harlequin slipped behind a gnarled tree, his round face peeking out from behind the trunk. This was another habit Link had noticed about the man – his constant desire to keep moving, as though all his energy was coiled up in his limbs, desperately waiting to be sprung free. "You'd do well to take things a little more seriously, mister," Harlequin said. A smile touched his lips. "What's it like, I wonder? What's it like to have the power to end another man's life?"

Link knew he shouldn't let himself be goaded into the conversation. Still, he couldn't resist. The bandit's smirk was irritating, like dirt in his eye. "I do what I have to," he said slowly. "To protect others." The explanation was clumsy, he knew. He couldn't quite put into words the thoughts spinning around his head. He hoped it was enough.

It wasn't. "So…" Harlequin said, stroking his chin. "To let others live you kill. I wonder…who exactly judges whether one life is worth more than another?" His eyes narrowed. "Fascinating."

Tiring of the conversation, the Hylian strode towards the path. As he reached it, he saw how it curled down into the depths, saw the splinters of rock strewn across its surface. He put one foot tentatively onto the dust ahead. The path trembled. It was far from stable.

Harlequin was by his side in a heartbeat, his grinning face an annoying blur in the corner of Link's vision. "You know what you remind me of?" the bandit said. When he received no reply, he continued, "You look like Death itself walking amongst us mere mortals." He giggled at his own joke. "Perhaps you are the Spirit of Death himself…hmm, mister?"

Finally Link turned towards him, eyes blazing. "Why don't I push you into the Valley right here," he growled, "and let you find out for yourself?"

Jack shrank back, though his grin didn't melt. Link found that even more exasperating. Spinning on his heel in a dance like manoeuvre, the bandit whirled past the assassin until he was out in front. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said. "Another notch on your bow, eh mister?"

Link's heart tightened as he caught the implication in the bandit's voice. "I don't enjoy killing." Instantly, he knew he'd made a mistake. Now he'd confirmed Harlequin's suspicions about him.

The bandit froze, his head cocked to one side. "Oh really?" His eyes thinned again. "Fascinating." A heartbeat passed. "From the way you walk and the manner in which you hold that weapon," Jack continued, "I'd say you did enjoy it one time. But _now_…hmmm, yes, _now_ things have changed." He took a step forward. "Turned over a new Deku leaf, did you? Found the error of your ways…_or,_" his grin grew wider, "_or_ it's that girly, isn't it?" He gave a theatrical sigh. "Melted your heart, did she?" Gazing off into the heavens, he let his smile grow lopsided. "How sweet."

With a snarl, Link pushed past him, making sure to shove him with the greatest of force. Briefly, he let his gaze wander over the bandit's form. "That's an interesting bauble," he muttered, nodding at a thin bracelet wrapped around Jack's wrist. He'd noticed it before, and only now decided to ponder over it. It was a dull silver chain, locked by a pendant depicting a dagger cutting a rope in two. "A gift from a friend?" He kept his eyes fixed on it, waiting for the other man to reply. He didn't. "Or a token of love, maybe." Still Harlequin remained silent. Link's mouth curled as something clicked in his mind. Once again, his childhood training had come to the rescue. "Or perhaps…the mark of an outcast?"

"Clever assassin," the bandit said sourly.

Link's heart surged with triumph. They were even now. He pushed his advantage as they marched down. "You didn't leave any family behind, did you?" he said. "There was no life for you back at the camp."

Harlequin shrugged. "What can I say?" he replied. "The bandit's life isn't for me. I was fostered to a family there." He leaned forward, as though he were about to reveal a dark secret. "By fostered I mean they took me captive as a child when they raided my village." He snorted. "Then they expect you to become one of them. Raping, pillaging, murdering. You know." He glanced at Link. "No, you probably don't. Anyway…they took me out on my first raid. They wanted me to kill some woman for a pathetic little necklace. She had her child with her. I couldn't do it. Hence, they marked me an outcast."

Silence hung between them, each man lost in his thoughts. Link realised how similar Jack's plight had been to the night of his Test. "You wanted to get away," he said after a moment. "You were glad I took you."

Harlequin raised his head, his fiery eyes locking with Link's. "Don't think this means I'm indebted to you," he spat. "It doesn't. I'll help you find your girly, then I'm gone, hear?"

Link nodded. "I understand."

The conversation now over, the young Hylian focused on the path ahead. The light was diminishing quickly, drained by the cloud's shadow. Despite that, it was a lot warmer here with grass fluttering at their feet and the occasional fruit hanging from the few trees that they passed. Winter had been defeated here. Heat radiated from under their feet, penetrating into their boots. Occasionally, steam would fountain out from the cracks in the rock, escaping in quick bursts, then falling deceptively silent. The ground shook gently under their footsteps, puffing dust into the air.

The cloud continued to swirl in a lazy rhythm. If he looked closely, Link could catch the sight of dark birds, their wings clipped unnaturally, daring to fly at the edge of the mass, dead animals hanging limply from their claws. Other shapes flickered in the sky, too. Winged shapes, but far too large to be animals. Link turned away, disturbed.

His mind wandered as the hours passed. For the first time in days, he thought of Mystral. A dull emptiness gnawed at one corner of his soul. She was lost to him now. Link didn't know where she was or if she even still lived. Almost instinctively he let his hand touch his heart, a whispered prayer flying from his lips. It was all out of his hands. He had to trust in other, unseen forces to make sure she was safe. Still, the feeling of helplessness almost drowned him.

Quickly he let his thoughts focus on Zelda. This time a sharp wince came to his heart, followed immediately by a surge of determination. He had an idea where she was. He had a guide to take him there. Hope was not lost. Now his hand curled into a fist. His mind sharpened, energy flowing into his limbs, and he took in a deep breath, blinking as though he'd just awoken from a deep sleep. _No, hope isn't lost. Unless, of course, you happen to be a red-haired bandit woman._ A smile came to his lips, and he almost laughed.

He let his gaze sweep out across the Valley, wondering where exactly his friend was. There was so much ground to cover, so many places a girl could get lost in, and Link suddenly felt very small. He hoped, childishly, that he'd be able to sense her presence somehow, that his heart would be able to connect to hers. He waited, looking for that faint spark of recognition. _Smile for me, Zelda._

The earth shifted suddenly under their feet, rocks tumbling over the edge with a clatter, and they both slipped, Link falling towards the cliff face, Harlequin spinning out towards the abyss. The bandit shrieked, his heels digging uselessly into the ground, and he slowly fell backwards, his arms flailing. Link spun, his boots gouging the earth, and swung out his arm. Swiftly his fingers curled around the bandit's wrist, feeling the hard bite of the man's bracelet dig into his skin, and tugged, pulling Jack to safety.

They collapsed, gasping for breath. The warm sense of relief washed over them. After a while, the bandit began to giggle. "You know why I told you I'd lost my family, mister?"

Link found the question curious, but had no answer. "No. Why?"

"I wanted to see if you had a good heart," Harlequin replied, his eyes twinkling. "Wanted to see if you'd take pity."

"And, do I?" the assassin replied, not really interested. "Do I have a good heart?"

Jack rubbed his chin, his hand still trembling from his brush with death. "I think maybe you do."

A smile tugged at Link's mouth as he stood. "Maybe?"

Harlequin shrugged, brushing himself down as they continued down the trail. "Maybe."

Their steps quickened as the path became steeper near the bottom. It merged into the Valley floor where, curiously, tufts of grass grew and flowers bloomed. Thick stakes had been driven into the ground, at the top of which hung old, battered lamps, the glass cracked and the metal dented. Ahead they saw the faint outlines of a few buildings and the faint murmur of voices floated towards them.

"Where exactly are these slave traders?" Link asked, leaning towards the bandit, his hand dropping to his crossbow.

Harlequin shuffled ahead, peering into the distance. "At the far side of the Valley," he replied. Noticing the look Link was giving him, he added, "I thought we'd stop in one of the villages. Rest, eat…the things normal people do?" His eyes took on a desperate sheen. "Or don't Spirits of Death feel hungry or tired?"

The words triggered a reaction in Link's body. Suddenly, his eyes felt heavy with fatigue and his stomach growled for the juice of roasted meat. He winced, trying to bat away the distraction. "Are the people friendly?"

Glancing at him with amusement, Harlequin smiled, but made no comment. The ground beneath them seemed to swirl and froth, a reflection of the agitated cloud above them. The gloom stained everything here, the carts, the houses, the shops, but most of all the people. Their faces seemed to droop, stretching down towards the earth. Their eyes though, Link noticed, sparkled with intelligence, diamond-hard shards of light that considered the newcomers with detached curiosity. No one approached the two of them. No one spoke to them. But Link knew that they were being watched very carefully.

Disfigured children ran in the streets, their happy laughter a sharp contrast to their twisted bodies. Women, equally hideous with wild hair and misshapen bones, chased them, voices mixed with anger and delight. Other people stayed in the shadows, wrapped in rags and laying in pools of grime and thick liquid. One man in particular kept his eyes firmly on Link. The young assassin grimaced, finding it unnerving. There was something else here, too, something in the air that whispered danger to his instincts. He understood it instantly. Outsiders were not welcome here. No, he corrected himself. Newcomers were not welcome. At least, not yet.

Despite the dimness, it was lively here. People filled the worn streets, bustling with activity. Link's eyes, searching for light in the murky darkness, were drawn to a blacksmiths, the sweat-soaked man hammering a glowing molten piece of metal into shape. It was almost hypnotic – the steady clank of metal on metal, the cloud of sparks that burst into life, then quickly faded away with each strike. Finally looking away, they stopped in front of an inn, the rusted sign creaking as the breeze pushed it to and fro. Link couldn't make out the name, the paint having faded over time.

Harlequin gazed around, a smile on his face. "The girls here are quite something, eh mister?"

Link cocked an eyebrow. "They're certainly 'things,' I'll give you that."

The bandit let out a breath. "You're very shallow, you know that?"

"Find us some food, Harlequin," the Hylian replied, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. He looked around, his eyes darting from building to building, noticing every open door, lingering on every face and remembering every path that led to the outside. He paused, thinking. A decision was made. "We won't be staying here. We'll camp in the Valley."

"Stop that."

Link turned to him. "Stop what?"

"Stop scrutinising everything," the bandit replied. "They'll be able to tell you're an assassin from a league away."

The youngster had to stop himself from gaping in shock. Had he so quickly lost his skills? "You could tell?"

A knowing smile spread across Harlequin's face. "I know a lot about you assassins, mister."

And, once more, the young bandit had regained the advantage in their little game of wits. Link looked away quickly, not wanting to show how much he'd been caught off guard.

Something shuffled below them. "A penny for an old man?"

Link almost jumped back in shock. A small, tattered shape lay on the floor, clinging to the shadows. The old beggar that had been watching them from a distance had somehow materialised at their feet. The man looked healthy enough. He could earn his own way through life. Link hissed, turning away.

"Abandoning those in need," the beggar croaked. "And you think you're purifying your heart."

Link stopped short, his temples throbbing. Cold sweat sprung up on his neck, his vision blurring and the sounds from the village fading. Slowly, throwing Harlequin a careful glance in the process, he turned back. His eyes locked with the beggar's. He was struck by the cool sense of complete peace that gazed back at him. "What did you say?"

The beggar gave a little snort – Link couldn't tell whether it was amusement or contempt. "I've been expecting you, young Link," the old man said. "You're late."

The assassin kept his face rigid, hoping he hadn't betrayed his surprise, while Harlequin gasped, sinking to his knees, his mouth opening in shock. "A Teacher."

Letting his eyes flick from the bandit to the beggar, Link said, "Another 'wise old man?'"

The Teacher fixed a pointed stare on him. Link felt something cold touch his face, then seep into his skin, piercing his soul. Invisible sparks crackled in the air, and he felt the world shift ever so slightly, as though it were unravelling in front of his eyes. He dug his heels into the ground to stop himself from stumbling. He sensed something, not with his eyes, but with his heart. Energy throbbed in the man before him, a crackling conduit that, Link guessed, connected one world with another. How he'd come to this conclusion, he didn't know. It just felt _correct._

"Signposts along the way," the beggar said. "You'd do well to pay them heed." He looked at him curiously, then spoke in soft, measured tones, "You feel it, don't you? You do have it within you to bridge the gap."

He didn't want to listen to this. He didn't have the time. Motioning at Harlequin, he turned away. "We have to go."

The bandit gazed up at him, his eyes wide with reverence. Link wanted to kick him. "Don't you know who this is?" Jack gasped. "Mister, don't you realise how rare it is to meet someone like this?"

Trying to force some anger into his eyes, the youngster glared at Harlequin. "I've met a man who has a Sea Serpent for a pet. I've met a Tree that talks and wants to me to kill my friends." He felt his jaw twitch as the emotions bubbled through him. "I'm in no mood to listen to someone who will, no doubt, either mock me or tell me something that I'll always regret."

He tried to move away, but Harlequin shuffled towards him on his knees, reaching out in desperation. His bracelet slipped out from under his sleeve and caught the light of one of the lamps, making the chain sparkle. "Don't go, mister," he begged. "I'd wager my life that he could help us find your girly."

"And your life is worth…?" A slight tang dropped onto his tongue, and even Link was surprised at the harshness in his own voice. He closed his eyes as soon as he saw the hurt flashing across the bandit's face. Taking in a deep breath, he caught the scent of charred meat and boiled vegetables, mixing with the aroma of freshly baked bread and melted butter. His mouth watered. A good meal. That's what he needed. He didn't need to think. Thinking reminded him of Zelda, of Mystral, of Jonah and a million dead faces that he couldn't put a name to.

"If not a penny for an old man." The beggar had spoken again. Was that amusement in his voice? "How about a minute? Nothing could possibly change in that short space of time, could it?"

People hurried past them, consumed in their own worlds. No one paid them any attention. Link wondered if they could see the beggar at all, considered his thoughts for a moment, then wondered if he himself had gone mad. He looked at the squat old man, dirt lining his clothes, wrinkles etched into his face. What could someone like this teach anybody? And why was it that people like this always picked _him_ as a potential student. Sighing, Link held out his palms in defeat. He felt his heart - his traitorous heart - tug and lurch, as though it were drawn towards the beggar. There was something strange about this so-called Teacher, an inner aura that seemed to be more than what his outer form indicated. Link shook his head. Now he was starting to think like Zelda.

"Would you like me to organise your thoughts?" the old man said. Link cocked his head to one side, curious. The Teacher must have guessed at Link's feelings from the look on his face. "Would you like to peek into another world?"

Link still couldn't draw his gaze away from the quiet serenity that swam in the Teacher's eyes. It was a sea of calm that also hinted at the spark of power. Controlled power. Everything else faded away from the assassin's consciousness. All he could think of, all he could focus on, was this strange old man dressed in rags, sitting at his feet. "What do you mean?"

A smile flashed across the beggar's face. "Let me show you the true reality of things," he said. He swung his arm out in a swift movement, and Link felt himself be pushed back, the air leaving his lungs.

Water fell across Link's vision, every muscle in his body tightening, and the world slowed, blurred, then screeched to a halt. _Literally_ screeched to a halt, as though the hands of Time itself had froze. The people around him – Harlequin, the Teacher, the villagers – were nothing more than shimmering shadows, streams of light peeling off their forms and floating into the air. One had lifted a foot up to take a step, but never had the chance to put it down again. Another had opened his mouth, ready to take a bite from a roll of bread, but the food never reached his lips. Here he saw a woman bent over scolding a child. There he saw a man forever caught with an angry scowl.

Tension bit at him. This wasn't a situation he'd ever prepared for. "What's happening?" the assassin whispered.

The Teacher's voice descended on him from all six directions, wrapping around his body and soul. "Our world is an intricate web balanced precariously on the edge," he said. "The slightest action can send ripples through that web, even without us realising it."

Confusion battered at Link's mind. He was in no mood for a mystical sermon.

"My dear friend." Oddly, Link was touched by the sincerity in the man's voice. He felt an unseen hand curl around his own. The skin was cool, and it spread tendrils of peace through his soul, stilling the turbulence in his heart. "This isn't superstitious nonsense. This is knowledge that was taught to all when the world was young. Those weak in faith and character turned to magic. Those stronger souls put their trust in the Divine and found everything they needed within their own selves."

Silence hung in the air, as though it were a physical weight. Link realised that he had little choice but to hear the man out. "Go on."

The Teacher's voice returned. "Watch."

Link frowned as a shape appeared, twisted, turned, then flowed upright until he saw a man, features knotted in anger. Another shape appeared, pulsing and bulging, until it stabilised, too. A child. The man's head snapped towards the child, his jaws working furiously. Even though he heard no sounds, Link could still understand what was going on.

"A man says an angry word to a child," the Teacher said. "The child, in turn, feels the scolding undeserved. He then flees, the hurt staining his heart, and finds his most beloved friend. Sick and tired of the world – at least in his eyes – he goads his friend into scaring some cuccos with a few well-aimed rocks. The sharp stones hit home, scaring the birds, who then fly out in front of an oncoming cart, confusing the driver. The cart overturns, rolls, smashing into the ground below. All the occupants die. The boy runs to survey the carnage, his heart quaking with fear. He breaks open the door to the cart only to find the dead form of his own mother."

Link's mouth pursed into a thin line. "That's the worst possible situation," he muttered. "More than likely the child would have let out his frustrations some other way and nothing so drastic would have occurred."

"Perhaps," the Teacher replied. "Let's go back. Things happen as you describe. But the child's father constantly bullies him, taunts him, destroys his confidence. The boy grows up to become a shell of the person he could have been. He marries. He has children. He promises himself that he won't make the mistake his father made. But the moment his own child makes a blunder he flies into a fury, beginning the cycle once again."

"Actions have reactions," the Hylian replied. "I understand that. But there's no guarantee that things would turn out exactly the way you say they would."

"Everything we do affects others in some way or form. It could be the smallest of influences or it could be the greatest. Someone snaps a branch of a tree, spraying its seed into the air. The seed lands far from its original destination, buries itself into the soil and sprouts. Summers later it is a tree, too…and a hungry woman approaches, delighting in the fruit that there finds there."

The words swam in Link's heart. There was _something_ there, some vague kernel of wisdom that he thought he should be able to grasp. His cynicism cut it to ribbons instantly. "Random actions. We can't be held responsible for that."

"We can't?" the Teacher replied. "Don't you understand what life is? What a tremendous burden it is? Without wisdom, without reflection, without deliberation, we're nothing more than animals." Link frowned. Zelda had said the same thing to him before.

Shapes shifted, another pair of blurs appearing. A woman. A man. The woman was huddled in a corner, wearing nothing more than tattered rags. The man approaches her, and she casts him a wary glance. "He is taking pity on her," the Teacher said. "He gives of his wealth freely. An act of charity to ease his mind. The woman is a whore. She is shocked by the gift, thinking that he must want something in return. It is, after all, the way things work in her world. Humbled when she realises the selflessness of a stranger, she vows to change her ways, rectifying her life and saving her soul."

Still Link wasn't convinced. "She could have changed at any moment in her life."

"Could she?" the Teacher asked. "She was cast on the streets, penniless. Wherever she turned she found brutality and cruelty. Instead of sinking in despair, she adapts to it, finding her daily bread at the cost of her own body. She knew nothing else. It was what she'd been taught as the way of the world. All she needed was someone to show her…an alternative. A different way to think, to act."

Link waited, pondering. "I don't understand what you're trying to say."

He felt another wave of motion wash over him. The landscape changed. The sky began to bleed, and dark, liquid shapes formed and hung from his neck. Crystal globes of light hovered nearby. Link gaped at the shadows clinging to him, tried to claw them off with his fingers, but failed. They were stuck fast, like a yoke.

The Teacher spoke. "What I am trying to say, young Link," he said, "is that life is a gift and with that gift comes responsibility. We are, all of us, shafts of divine light with the power within ourselves to rise above our animal natures and, with help from Above, move the very mountains themselves. Of course, you can't have complete access to the Unseen; that's only for the Divine itself. At the same time, however, we have the ability to become tyrants, forcing our will onto others, spreading pain and misery, living only to satisfy our most basic desires. You are responsible for every action you make – and you have to bear the consequences of those very same actions. The crystals you see before you are your selfless deeds given form. The shadows you see is the evil you did given form. Each affects you in their own way – the crystals will raise you higher until you become light itself, while the shadows will drown you in their darkness both in this world and the next. The choice, as ever, is yours."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you want to purify your heart," the Teacher said. "You think you can do it by yourself. You can't. You know your potential and you wish to grasp it. You know your shadows and you wish to slay them. You haven't yet learned the immense weight of responsibility that goes with being alive. You haven't yet learned to control the evil within you. Until you do that, you'll forever remain a child, only doing 'good' because it satisfies your ego's need to be appreciated by others, and only doing 'evil' because it satisfies your ego's need for vengeance."

"Who _are_ you?"

"I am a Boneyard Warrior." Link blinked. Zelda had mentioned them before they'd visited the weed, spoken about them in a hushed voice. "You must stay with me and I will teach you the path. Words that come from the heart always affect another's heart. Words that come from a pure heart can polish the mirror of a rusted heart. Words and deeds that come from the ego are empty, hollow, and easily recognised as insincere. Everyone has an inner eye. Not everyone can open that eye. I'll teach you to open yours, clean the dirt that irritates it, and you'll become the person you were always meant to be."

"I can't." Link said. He was tempted, though. The words had awoken something within him, the always-out-of-reach desire to be better than what he'd become. It was a lifeline – a way out from the faces that haunted him every time he tried to sleep. But he couldn't possibly stay. "I have to find Zelda."

"By killing and injuring? By shattering families, ending livelihoods?" The Teacher's voice took on a stern quality.

"Some things can't be helped," Link replied. In the corner of his mind, it struck him as curious that the Teacher implicitly knew who Zelda was. Another part of him wondered why he was even listening to the old man. There was something in the Teacher's voice, however, something overpowering that brushed aside all doubts. "Some people don't deserve the gift you speak of."

"Perhaps. But you can learn how to avoid that as much as possible. You can learn how to discriminate between the truly depraved and the truly confused."

"By opening my heart's eye?" He felt foolish even saying the words and, yet, he also felt certain that this would be something that Zelda would have passionately taken hold of. He felt torn, his soul at a crossroads. If anyone else had told him such things, he'd have laughed and walked away. But here this old man was, displaying the full fruits of his abilities. Abilities that, he claimed, came from chiselling the rock of his heart into a pure diamond, not because it was the 'right' thing to do, but because it was what he was _meant_ to do. Still. This was one thing he didn't want to do because of Zelda or Mystral or anybody else. If he did this, he'd do it for himself and the One, Unseen. To prove that he could.

"Yes," the Teacher said. "Once you conquer yourself, you'll fear no man or beast." Before Link could reply, he saw a beam of light burst from the ground, dazzling and beautiful, and unwavering in its intensity. A deep hunger opened in his heart, and he could sense the traces of joy that pulsed from within the luminous pillar. The Teacher spoke again, "You can choose to be light or choose to be darkness. You will, being Hylian, always have a mix of the two. But you can let one control the other. I cannot change your basic nature, but I can teach you to use the shadows within you only when they're necessary and to use the light within you only when it is truly appropriate. In short, you'll turn your shadows into righteousness, and your light into purity. Two paths before you, young Link – shadows or light."

"So there is a choice?" Again, it sounded ridiculously far-fetched. Was it possible to reach such a state? He didn't want to make a decision like this now. He needed time to think and, more importantly, he needed to find Zelda first.

"You have to desire it. With sincerity and determination." The Teacher's ghostly voice floated in the air, seemingly able to read his mind. Dimly, Link was aware that his question had been ignored. "It takes time and effort. But my fellow Warriors and I achieved it. As did the First."

"The First?" Link asked.

Again, the Teacher changed track. "Zelda will be safe for the time being, let me assure you," he said. "If you stay with me you can learn how to help her, how to free her when the time comes." A pause, the words lingering in the air. "You'll stay if you truly love her."

"But I don't-"

"You _do._"

And, with that, Link fell into silence, the sheer power put into those two simple words numbing his tongue. He caught a slither of movement from beyond. The column of light shattered, then spread outwards, flooding through Link's body as though someone had breathed pure contentment into his soul. He gasped, his heart shuddering, his mind feeling as though he'd been drenched in an ocean of bliss. "What is it?"

"That is the First," the Teacher replied wryly. "That is the Hero of Time."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Night fell on New Hyrule and with it came all the sounds indicating a city at peace – the insistent wail of a newborn, the hopeful laughter of a young couple, the metallic trill of dropped merchandise. From his vantage point high on the rooftops, Fran knew that the outward cloak of the city was nothing more than an empty façade. This was a land under occupation, a people crushed under a brutal heel. The gentlest of breezes caressed the torchlights, illuminating the cold, grey walls of the nearby dwellings, still stained with the dark blotches of rapidly fading blood. The hints were still all there. The subtle reminders, no doubt burning into the angry gazes of the Calatians that peeked out from their windows during the curfew. How had it all come to this?

Fran let his eyes drift upwards, past the old Quarters – no longer separated by race since they were all Hylian now – past the freshly minted buildings standing unoccupied, past the old, withered warehouses, past the Hylian Meeting House, now derelict, until he came to a stop on the silent form of Castle Dragmire. He wondered what it was called now. Castle Boarhound? He had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

The tall, emerald towers speared the night sky, and the tiny sliver of a new moon, razor thin and sparkling silver, peeked out from behind. Calculations darted in Fran's head. A new moon meant a new month. In his time alone in his hut, Fran had memorised all the movements of the heavenly bodies so that he'd know the exact passage of time. This month marked the seventeenth summer since Link's birth. The lad was a man now, fit to command armies and search for a spouse. In a score more summers he'd have reached the midpoint of his life. If he was lucky, he'd go beyond the fifty summers that usually marked the end of a person's worldly existence, much like Fran himself had done.

He spat, trying to rid the sour taste from his mouth. A taste that had arisen from the gloom he felt whenever he thought about Link. Fran had been certain that he'd been sent to this period of time in order to watch over the lad, to make sure that he would grasp both his potential and his heritage at the same time. But now he had no idea where Link was, though Fran was certain that he was still alive somewhere, despite not having any evidence to bolster his beliefs.

Movement caught his eyes from the street below, and he shifted in his crouched position, feeling the scratch of his boot against the grit of the flat roof. The five figures darted from shadow to shadow, one cradling a small, squirming bundle, another carrying a bulging sack over his shoulder. Fran followed, leaping from roof to roof, ignoring the protests from his aging limbs, and fixing his hunter's vision on the fleeing group. He'd noticed them the night before, huddled in the shade of an inn, and was about to praise his good fortune when he decided that luck had nothing to do with it. He'd been guided to them, pure and simple. Never being a very religious type and finding the finer points of theology a bit too much for him, Fran was surprised at the convictions that now stuck fast to his heart. Whatever, or Whoever, was guiding his moments he had decided to let 'It' open up whatever path had been laid out for him. At the very least, he no longer believed in coincidences.

Instead of directly searching for the Princess and the others, Fran had made his slow, tortuous way back to the city; a journey that had taken him a week, maybe more. At first he'd been surprised to see the Hylian guards posted at the city's gate, but then realised it was to his own advantage. They'd let him through, not caring about the bow strapped to his back, just on the strength of being from the same race as themselves.

Now he watched the small group as they made their way towards the Kokiri Quarter, running down one deserted street, before slipping into a narrow alleyway. No guards were posted here, such was the arrogance of Servion's minions. They'd become drunk on their victory, and that same self-confidence had made them complacent. Fran wondered why the Chief hadn't disciplined his followers already. That is, if he was even in the city.

Fran leapt from the roof, his cloak billowing, and landed on the cobbled stone below with the smallest of stumbles. Calmly, he strode into the alleyway, his eyes narrowing from the lack of light. He caught a glimpse of the group as they entered a doorway, and glanced up, realising that the broken, dirty building beside him was not, as he'd first assumed, a derelict fit for rubble, but actually some sort of dwelling. He stopped in front of the door, hesitated, then pushed it open gingerly.

Fran was ready for what was coming next. Not for the least moment had he thought that the group would not have noticed his movements, and he ducked as the two men, hidden on either side of the door, lunged at him, their faces lined with the satisfied triumph that told him that they'd been certain that he would fall into their trap.

He rolled, his bow digging into his back, sprang to his feet, then spun on his heel, brushing the dust from his tunic. "Your Highness," he said with a nod. He winced as the pain caught up to him. He was too old for this foolishness.

Montero glared up at him from the floor, snarling, "And who are you?"

"Fran!"

He turned at the sound of the familiar voice, his face melting in relief, and Mystral ran towards him from the shadows, a flaming torch in her hands. His arms curled around her, careful not to let the flame get too close, and he buried his face into her hair, closing his eyes, grinning. "My dear," he sniffed. "It's so good to see you again."

They parted, and Fran had to lower his gaze as Mystral's wide eyes searched his face. "Link?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," was all he said, "I'm sorry."

Biting her lower lip, she nodded slightly, then turned away.

"Excuse me." The other man – a Hylian, Fran noticed – pulled himself upright. "This is…?"

"A friend," Mystral said, her hard eyes daring him to contradict her.

"But…"

"If she says he's a friend, Kafei." Another woman appeared, holding a sleeping child. "Then he is."

The Hylian rolled his eyes. "Anju, put Hobert to bed," he growled. "Then see if there's any fresh food left in the pantry."

There was a pause as husband and wife stared at each other. Fran recognised the struggle, saw the subtle pulling on the chains of authority. Finally Anju relented, gently walking towards the stairs.

"What's happened here?" Fran asked, pulling everyone's attention back. "Why are there Hylians posted at the gate of the city?"

The King, now on his feet again, looked at him with a slight hint of contempt. "An error on my part," he said. "One that I'm about to rectify." He peered past them into the hallway. "Impa?"

Yet another woman appeared, carrying a scroll glistening with fresh ink. "It's ready," she said, her fingers smudged blue from the quill. "A summons to our allies."

"Good," the King said with a thin smile. He turned to Kafei. "You said this place has messenger birds?"

The Hylian nodded slowly. "At the back, yes."

Gesturing towards Impa, the King said, "Show her."

As the duo departed, Montero turned his attention back to Fran. "Soon this city will be crawling with Calatians once again." A cruel spark ignited in his eyes. "And the streets with run red with Hylian blood."

Fran, his mouth suddenly dry, held his gaze for a heartbeat longer and almost flinched from the words. The King's tone was cold, drained from any semblance of compassion. Is this what power and vengeance did to people? He felt Mystral beside him, tugging at his sleeve and saying, "If we could be excused…?"

Montero assented with a wave of his hand and they left, walking slowly down the corridor as Mystral touched her torch to the exposed lamps hanging from the walls, instantly igniting the oil swimming slowly within.

"This place…?" Fran asked when enough distance had parted between them and the King. He still kept his voice low, however.

"Harkinian safehouse," she whispered back. Her voice took on a layer of concern. "Where have you been?"

Fran gazed at her, waves of affection radiating from his heart. He'd always thought of her as a daughter, and it pained him that he had no good news to relay to her. "I helped Link escape." He caught the hope glinting in her eyes and quickly added, "But we were separated. I don't know where he is now."

She looked away, her expression thoughtful, but not downcast. Fran pursed his lips, feeling a surge of pride within. He spoke again, breaking the sudden silence. "Were you harmed?"

"No," she replied, smiling. A cloak of darkness fell on her features for a moment. "They did terrible things to the others." The muscles in her neck tensed as the memories returned, and Fran winced, wanting to cradle her and ease her anguish. "I'd never have believed that Servion and the others were capable of such things."

Fran looked away. "Humiliation begets rage," he said, choosing his words carefully. "And rage makes people do things that they wouldn't usually do."

"But Tom and Deak and the Elders," she replied. "Everything they taught us died when they stormed the city." She paused, silent with her thoughts. "If only we could find a way to help them, to being them back."

Fran felt the tingle of surprise. How could she still feel pity for them after all she'd seen them do? He felt shame touch his cheeks. She was a much butter person than he – and her compassion was what made her unique. It was what made her remind him of his daughter. His real daughter. With a sigh, he said without much conviction, "There's always hope."

Mystral nodded. "What's going to happen, Fran?" she asked, her voice trembling. "To all of us?"

He had no answer and he knew that she was too old to be fooled by insincere assurances. He spied the heavy sack in a corner. Waving his hand towards it, he asked, "What's that?"

"The King had us retrieve it when we fled from the dungeons," she replied. Fran frowned, but she didn't go into any details of their captivity. "He said that his men had developed a way to make 'explosive packages'. They wrap leaves around tightly packed bundles of powder. It detonates on impact."

"He's going to use it to fight the others?"

Ignoring his question, Mystral turned to face him, her eyes fixing him with a burning stare. "What's happened to Link?"

This time Fran knew that she wouldn't accept it if he dodged the answer. He leaned forward, sighing once more. "He's safe, somewhere," he said. "You have to believe that. He's important to what's going on. I don't know how else to explain it to you."

"My Link," she breathed, tears pooling in her eyes. She swayed and Fran reached out, thinking that she would faint. "Why him? Will I ever see him again?"

"Yes." She jumped back, startled by the determination in his voice. "You will."

Mystral turned her head slightly, watching the King as he stood gazing at the door. "There's going to be a war, isn't there?" The mournful tone in her voice almost broke Fran's heart. "There's going to be more bloodshed."

Fran touched her shoulder gently. "My dear," he said, his own voice matching the sadness in hers. "The war has already begun."

...

Servion rocked from side to side, perched on his horse, his guards flanking him on either side, as he watched the Holy's cloud form in the air ahead of him. He gripped the reins tightly, partly out of fear, partly to keep his ride from becoming too panicked. In the distance he saw their destination: the blackened remains of some sort of settlement. Some parts of it still glowed orange, highlighting the area in the darkness.

"_Have you arrived yet?_"

The Chief swallowed, desperately wishing that he had some music to calm his nerves. Instead, his fingers grasped the two artefacts swinging from his neck: the Triforce of Power and the Triforce of Courage. "Almost," he gasped. "What am I looking for there?"

"_Your agent is there,_" the Holy said. "_One of your assassins._"

Briefly, the Chief's mind wandered until the correct knowledge flitted into his head. Kisho's squad, it had to be. "Only one?"

"_The others are dead,_" the Holy replied, "_killed by the Demon._"

Righteous anger flowed through Servion's veins. Now he was eager to wipe the stain of evil from the world. "You saw this through the girl?" he growled.

"_No._" Amusement laced the Holy's voice. "_I have other ways of obtaining information._"

Another puzzle. Servion dismissed it from his mind. Obviously the Holy possessed near limitless power. A frown came to him quickly, and the shape of the Triforce of Power felt heavy in his hand. If that was the case, he thought, why was he trapped in girl's soul?

He was jolted from his musings by the Holy's hissing voice. "_You still haven't found the Triforce of Wisdom._"

At a loss for words, the Chief could merely shrug weakly, though the fact that she'd eluded him taunted him no end. "Soon," he muttered.

"_I hope so, for your sake._" Some sort of hint, something Servion couldn't quite catch, slipped into the Holy's voice. "_If you wish to see your city intact, that is._"

The Chief sat bolt upright in his saddle, startling his horse and drawing curious glances from his guards. "What do you mean?"

The Holy gave no reply, save for a chuckle, before the cloud closed on itself and vanished. Servion slumped in his saddle, his heart trembling from the Holy's words. Had he done something to anger the spirit? Surely the Holy must know that he was trying his best to find the Princess? Confusion made his forehead crease, and he almost didn't notice that they'd arrived at the former settlement, the stench of charred wood and burnt skin breaking him out of his reverie.

Kisho sat, crosslegged, in the centre of the quiet carnage, his eyes following the Chief carefully. Servion had sent a messenger bird ahead a few days earlier, commanding the assassin to stay put.

"What are _you_ doing here?" the Commander spat.

Servion waited for a heartbeat. If he replied too quickly he would be showing that the assassin could command him and the Chief didn't want that. He wanted to flex only his own authority, to show everyone who was in charge now. "I'm the King's representative," he replied. "I've come to aid you find the boy."

"I see," the assassin said carefully. "And what if I were to tell you I don't need your help?"

Servion shrugged. "It wouldn't matter," he said. "The King wishes it."

"What proof do you have?" Kisho's eyes glanced to the two guards. "And why would the King send three Hylians?"

The Chief almost winced, but steadied himself in time. He pulled on the reins, and his horse took a few steps forward. "You forget. Link is not loved amongst our people. Hence the King thought it would be wiser to send us – men who are burning for revenge. Is that proof enough?" He fidgeted in his saddle, hoping the words would have effect. "I bring you aid."

"I don't need it," Kisho replied dismissively. "And I still don't see why a Hylian would want to track down a fellow Hylian."

"Considering that Link has killed both your teammates," the Chief replied. "I would say that you're in dire need of my help."

The assassin's eyes narrowed, but his posture remained unmoved. "How did you know that?" he said. "About Link and my squad, that is."

A smile spread across Servion's face, and he quietly gave thanks to the Holy. Clearly the gift of that information was a reward for his devotion. "I know a lot," he said as cryptically as possible, hoping that the assassin would be unnerved. "Which is one reason why you should let me help you."

"I can find him myself," Kisho replied. "My Glimmer Bird can track his. I know where he is exactly at this moment."

The Chief cocked his head to one side, grinning. "But do you know where he is going?" he said. "Because I do."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"How did I know that your team lay dead at Link's hands?"

Servion sat back, satisfied, as the assassin lapsed into silence. A slight breeze blew, whipping up a cloud of ash that skipped across the ground, then brushed through the branches of the trees standing nearby. Animals of the night whispered and howled. Feeling the thrill of victory in his heart, the Chief waited for the assassin to admit defeat.

Another gust of wind blew, bringing with it a flash of movement. No, Servion realised with a jolt, not the wind. He blinked. Kisho was gone. He sat up straight, noting the shocked expressions on his guards' faces, and glanced furtively left and right, searching.

Nothing.

The air left his lungs as something slammed into his back, then he gasped as an arm coiled around his neck. His horse reared, neighing in fear. Panicked shouts rang out from his guards as they struggled to free their weapons and guide their rides aright. Servion saw the night sky become red, his eyes screaming with pain, his throat and chest tight. Desperately his hand reached for his sword, brushed against the cold hilt once or twice, then clutched at nothing but icy air.

Hot breath materialised by his ear. "So you see," Kisho whispered. "I _don't _need your help at all." Servion snarled at the smugness in the assassin's voice, but was instantly cut off as the man jerked his head upwards. "You're nothing but a liability." The contempt was clear. "Call your men off."

Servion waved frantically and, out of the corner of his flickering vision, he saw the two confused guards back off slightly, though they kept their weapons ready.

Kisho spoke again. "The only use you have is your supposed knowledge that you have regarding Link's destination."

The Chief forced his mouth open, the pain ringing in his jaws. "The King commanded me to help you," he gasped.

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't," the assassin said calmly. "Know this, though. If we are to work together, then Link isn't to be harmed unless I say so." He tightened his grip. "Understand?"

Humiliation and rage churned in the Chief's soul, but he knew that at the moment the heathen had the advantage. That would change. It would have to. The righteous could never be cowed like this. He nodded as vigorously as he could considering his circumstances, and choked the words out. "I understand."

Servion felt Kisho relax, and he wheezed, taking in huge gasps of breath. Black spots danced in his vision and his head pounded with blood.

"Good," the assassin said, a grin apparent from the tone of his voice. "I'm glad that's settled, then."

...

Darkness.

A flash, first silver, then crimson, cuts through the gloom. Then her face appears, bloodstained and grinning wildly, slipping out from the oppressive blackness as though it were nothing more than a curtain. In her crimson coated hand hangs the King's severed head.

The Princess awoke with a start, her eyes focusing on the window set in one wall, revealing the bubbling green liquid outside that threw skittering patterns onto the floor. She blinked as full consciousness returned to her, and continued to gaze at water image was soothing. She clutched her blanket for a moment, breathing deeply as she buried her head into the soft fabric.

"Your sleep is disturbed."

Looking up, she saw the Zora guardswoman that sat in one corner, liquid eyes gazing thoughtfully. At first the Princess had resented the creature's presence, protesting indignantly to the rulers of the Domain. They had brushed aside her complaints without a moment's reflection, something that still irked her to this day. A thought touched her mind – how long had they been here anyway? She barely saw the others, except for perhaps Sahasrahla at the daily meetings with the Zora Queen. They discussed many things in the gatherings – the state of the people, the trade routes – everything except what the Princess considered essential, which was, of course, the exact scheme they had to help her regain her Throne. Everyday her hosts put off discussing their plans in full, their serene voices speaking cryptic words to which she could find no reply.

"It's nothing," the Princess replied, swinging her legs out from the bed. She stood, resisting the urge to stretch or yawn, the many summers of learned royal etiquette holding her back. She waited, sighing. If this had been the safehouse, attendants would have rushed to her side by now, helping her dress and asking her what she wanted to eat. Nothing of that sort happened here. Another indication that these creatures were far from being civilised.

A knock came at the door, rapid and urgent, and, with the briefest of shared glances, the Zora guardswoman stood to open it.

Standing in the passageway was the Duchess Ruto, the Zora woman who had brought the Princess and her friends to the Domain. "I bring news," she said quickly, not bothering to indulge in any pleasantries. "It is time for you to prepare for what is to come."

Hope skipped in the Princess' heart, mixed with the feeling of relief. At last. At last she'll learn what all this was about. Bowing her head minutely she said, "Come in."

Ruto glided into the room gracefully, threw the guard a meaningful look, then stopped as the other Zora left, hastily closing the door behind her. Glancing around the room, she said, "I trust everything is to your liking?"

The Princess stood up straight. She didn't have time for small talk. "Tell me," she said, knowing it was a breach of good manners to press on her hostess like this, but not caring all the same. "Tell me what you're people have planned."

Ruto looked at her for a heartbeat, her face expressionless. "The Zora live under the water and care little for the affairs of the land," she said. "Unless, that is, those entrusted with the safe keeping of the world have failed in their covenant." She paused, taking a step forward. "In which case it falls to us that cleanse the land of evil and to install ourselves as guardians."

It was what the Princess had wanted - straightforward and to the point. Still, the cold bluntness of the Zora's words made her heart tremble with dread. "Have we fallen so far?"

The Zora laughed, a short, shrill noise, then stepped up to one of the tables lining the walls and picked up a jewel-encrusted goblet. Looking at it pensively, she said, "You've threatened – all of you – the balance that keeps the world in check. Your selfish desires and your petty feuds have torn the land apart." She set the glass down and turned to face the Princess. "For the sake of the animals, the trees and all the other living things in creation, you must be stopped."

The Princess's mind raced, but she fought to keep her face still. "How will you do this?"

"We have raised an army," Ruto said slowly. Her voice was carefully modulated, betraying no emotion. "We strike at the capital city soon."

"Invasion?" It was a struggle now for her to keep the fear from her face. Blood thudded in her ears and she felt suddenly faint. Misery coated her words. "Will you kill us all?"

Another laugh, and the Princess felt the flare of anger in her heart. Ruto cocked her head to one side. "We won't become like you," she said. "No. We won't kill you. But we need to keep you in check and we know from experience that your kind will not accept us because we're so…different." A pause, as though she wanted the words to sink in. "So we need someone to speak on our behalf."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "And why have you brought me here?"

A slight hiss flew from the Zora's lips. "Are you really so dense?" The Princess grit her teeth, though she felt her face clench with indignation. "We will bring the city under our control and then we will install _you_ as our representative. You will, in effect, be the ruler that you always wished you were. You can keep your title as well, if you wish. But," and here her voice dropped as she took a step closer, "But you will rule only by our guidelines and our philosophy."

"No," the Princess said instantly, turning away and walking towards the window. "I will have my land back on my own terms only."

"You really have no choice." The Zora's tone was hard, brittle. "I am offering you our entire army at your disposal. You have no other means by which to capture the city."

"I'll find a way."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ruto growled. "All that time you spent planning how to reclaim your throne – did you even once pause to wonder how you would _run _the country?"

The Princess had to admit that she had not – not that she'd actually say that in front of the Zora. It was, she knew, a tactical failing, and her much vaunted wisdom should have had the foresight to plan ahead. Closing her eyes, the Princess let hands rest on the cold windowsill. It was a tempting prospect, but a deflating one, too. The Zora army would never be truly loyal to her. And she wanted total control, needed it like she needed food and water. Not only that, but it filled her with disgust that she would even had to rely on these creatures. They were right – neither the Hylians nor the Calatians would accept them, especially as they had appointed themselves judges over the world. Ideas flew through her head, different schemes and plots, and she studied each one quickly, before rejecting them and moving on. The Princess could feel Ruto's eyes upon her, lingering patiently. _Let her wait_.

Still. Her people would live and that meant she would have some semblance of a loyal population. So – the Zoras would install her as soveriegn. That would be one aim achieved. Then, they would create an infrastructure that would assist her in governing Greater Calatia. That would be a plus – and it would be child's play for her to establish the brighter Hylians in a position where they could learn from the creatures. After that, she could bide her time, slowly implementing whatever madness the Zoras wanted until she deemed it the correct time for the Hylians to strike back and wipe both the sea creatures and the Calatians from the world. All she needed was patience. A smile broke across her face.

Slowly, the Princess turned back to Ruto. "You're right," she said. "I am ill-prepared to take the burden of leadership." She calmed her nerves, hoping nothing would show on her face. "I need you. I apologise once again for doubting you." She took in a deep breath, feeling the tingle of anticipation in her veins. "I accept your proposal. Let us begin the invasion of Greater Calatia."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"You're making a mistake."

Zelda heard her own voice, defiant and proud, though she herself knew her protests were useless. The cart rocked from side to side, the jolts from the uneven path vibrating into her very teeth. Pure, black misery stuck to her heart like tar. Is this the only sensation she would feel from now on? She bit down on her lower lip, resisting the urge to sigh. Strong, she had to be strong. Her vision blurred as a traitorous tear formed in one eyes, but she hissed, shaking it away.

She glanced at the bandit-woman, sitting astride a horse at the front. The breeze played with her red hair, scattering it to and fro. The woman hadn't responded to Zelda's words, nor had she even shown any hint that she'd heard them. Zelda sniffed, her nose still chilled from the previous night's rain. It had been a somewhat cleansing experience though, and she breathed in deeply, taking in the heady scent of wet earth that now hung in the air.

Again she struggled against her bonds, the ropes that cut deep into her wrists and ankles. They felt sore, a burn that intensified with every small movement. Zelda did not worry about the bonds themselves; she was used to being herded like an animal now. Indeed, it seemed her entire life was meant to be one whole prison. And then, of course, she would die, killed by Link.

Her heart fluttered at the remembrance of his name, though she couldn't quite place exactly why. A tug of love - a genuine, sincere sensation - blossomed into her heart, unbidden. She extinguished it instantly. It was neither good, nor proper, to think of him like that. His purpose was clear - he was to be her murderer. This time, no cold weight settled on her heart as she thought about it. It all made sense now. She'd made peace with the fact that he was a trained killer, a dealer of death. It all fit so perfectly. The One had designed everything to match His purpose - Zelda was to die and only someone whose purpose was to give death could do it. Still. She still had to find him. She hoped, _prayed_, that he was well, though the rational side of her heart chided her for it.

"I don't see any mistake, missy."

Zelda was jolted out of her thoughts by Malon's words. She was momentarily lost, wondering what the bandit-woman was referring to, before she remembered her earlier words. Feeling somewhat relieved that her presence had finally been acknowledged, Zelda pressed on: "Yes, a mistake. You don't know what I am."

This time Malon did turn her head. Zelda almost shrank back, seeing the mess the woman's face was in. Her bruises were healing, but they were not being pretty about it. "_What _you are, missy?" Her voice was sharp, though laced with amusement. "I do now. I didn't realise it at first. You being a Princess n all, and having _that_ name."

Zelda pursed her lips, focusing her gaze on her captor. It was easier than watching her surroundings, that was for certain. No matter how broken the bandit-woman's face was, it did not compare to the sheer ugliness of the land they were travelling through. It was as though the One Himself had forsaken the place. Perhaps it had sprouted from the very Pit itself. It certainly smelt that way; the stench of sulphur clinging to every crooked tree and to every broken, mis-shapen rock. Everything seemed burnt and splintered - even the very sky itself. It just felt... _unnatural. _

Malon waited, and Zelda realised that she hadn't yet responded. The bandit-woman's words were a puzzle to her though. "What do you mean?" was all she could ask.

A chuckle escaped Malon's lips as she continued: "Zelda. Princess. Princess Zelda. You're related to the old Queen." Her eyes squinting, she peered forwards. "Come to think of it," she mused, "now that I recall the old portraits...you even _look_ like her."

Curiosity was an itch in Zelda's heart now. "Is she...is she still alive?

This time the bandit-woman threw back her head and laughed. "No, missy, no. She's been dead for hundreds of summers." Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping, as though she were speaking half to herself. "Strange that you look like her and have the same name."

The cart dipped into another hole, making the two of them lurch violently. Zelda bit back a cry as her hands and feet, now numb from being immobile for so long, started tingling insistently. Malon struggled to control the horse, and Zelda was glad for the distraction. The bandit-woman's stare had been a little too intense.

Still. She ached to learn more. "What was she like?" Zelda asked. "This Queen. What do you know of her?"

Malon was facing away from her once more, but the smile was clear from her voice. "They say she was a kind and just ruler." A contemptuous snort followed. "Historians. You can't trust them. Though...they are good with their hands..." Her voice trailed off in a dreamy haze.

Annoyed at the diversion, Zelda coughed sharply.

"Oh!" Malon said, startled. "Hmm...well, they say she only had one hand. And that she married some foreign Prince." She sighed dramatically. "Lucky woman." Now she turned to Zelda, a wicked glint twinkling in her eye. "Shame the same can't be said for you, eh missy?"

Zelda felt her cheeks burn as her eyes thinned in anger. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I already told you, missy. You're young and fresh." She licked her lips. "You'll fetch a good price at the slave market." Her mouth tugged downwards in dismay. "Shame you're so...flat, though. I'll lose a bit because of that."

Desperate, Zelda's voice took on a pleading tone. "Why can't you just let me go? I'm sure someone of your...talents...could find an easy way to make some coin." When Malon did not reply, Zelda pressed on. "You're so beautiful and intelligent. Surely you could make your own way in the world without resorting to this."

For a moment, a heartbeat seemingly frozen in time, Zelda saw indecision flicker across the older woman's face. Hope surged inside, like a plume of flame bursting from the ground, but then it was instantly extinguished as the familiar, cruel mask took it's rightful place once more upon Malon's face.

"Don't flatter me, missy." There was a strange tug of sadness in her voice. Bizarrely, Zelda even felt a trickle of pity in her heart. "I'm nothing and nobody now. I can make my own way in life - but only after you help me by staying quiet and being pretty."

"Why can't we just help each other?" Zelda persisted, her voice soft.

Malon's temper flared. "Do you take me for a fool? Or maybe you're just young and naive. Welcome to the world, missy...it's cruel, it hurts, and the only way you can win is by hurting first."

Zelda matched the anger. "That's a ridiculous philosophy! Maybe it's _you_ that's the child. It's you that hasn't learned that you can't get all you want just because you want it. Only a babe stuck to her mother's skirts thinks like that. Maybe that's all you are. Maybe that's why all you live for is yourself." Her rage bubbled and, though she knew she should stop, she couldn't help herself. "You self-centered wretch!"

She didn't see it coming. Malon turned ever so swiftly, leaned forward, drew her hand back, and slapped Zelda straight across the cheek. More stunned than hurt, the Harkinian fell backwards, her eyes wide and watering.

Letting out a frustrated breath, Zelda stared down at her bonds. No. She would not feel sorry for herself. She would not allow it. She'd been imprisoned before. She'd escape now as she had then.

...

In the end, she mused, it was easier than she would have wished. They had stopped at a cottage, sitting seemingly in the middle of nowhere. As night's dark cloak wrapped itself around the land, Malon had spoken to the owner in hushed tones. It seemed that both the bandit-woman and the owner were familiar with each other, though Zelda did not want to ponder on exactly why. The end result was that they would be staying the night at the cottage.

Midnight had long passed as Zelda lay in her bed, the sound of her own rhythmic breathing her only company. Her ankles and wrists were still bound, the owner of the cottage not finding this the least bit strange. He had carried her into this room and then locked the door.

Zelda waited, straining to hear for any tell-tale sound that would indicate that anyone else was awake. Silence reigned.

She smiled. They had underestimated her. After all, she'd broken into Castle Dragmire itself. Escaping from here, in comparison, would be child's play. Rolling out of the bed, she shivered as the chill air enshrouded her. There was no light in the room, save for the pale moonlight dancing against one wall. That didn't matter. All that mattered was the sole window at the far side.

Struggling to her feet, she felt a pang of regret. This room, she realised, had been the most luxurious place that she had had the privilege to have lived in her whole life. She batted away the childish desire, urgent and intense in its hunger, that had rooted in her heart; the desire that she should discard any plans for escape to instead savour this moment. She snorted in disgust at her own self.

Zelda hopped across to the other side of the room, hoping against hope that her movements were not making too much noise. Leaning her shoulder against the window to absorb the sound, she thrust her elbow into glass. It splintered with a dull crack. She paused, her heart thumping, waiting to see if she'd been noticed. No alarm came. No rush of people; no shouts. Left hand curling around her right wrist, she plunged her elbow into the window again - this time it gave, the shards of glass tinkling to the ground below.

She let out a breath, leaning back and letting the cold air wash over her. Quickly, she went to work. She used the jagged remains of the window to cut through the rope around her wrists, then broke off a piece of glass to free her ankles. Massaging her limbs, she winced as the blood rushed back. Zelda peered outside, and noticed that directly below her was the roof of another, smaller hut, joined to the main cottage. Careful to avoid the glass, she climbed out and onto the slate below. Frost bit into her bare feet, but she ignored it.

Zelda looked around, but could see nothing due to the overwhelming blackness, suffocating like a dark fortress, that surrounded her. She pressed her back against the wall, the stone like ice against her tunic. She glanced down at herself, noting that she was still in the same clothes as she had been in at the bandit camp. Her tunic was encrusted with dirt now, and stiff with days old sweat. She grimaced, but knew there was nothing to be done about it.

She edged forward, hoping that the drop to the ground would not be too high. Her heart soared, the taste of freedom sweet in her mouth. Zelda couldn't help but smile. Darting past one window, not daring to peek inside, she moved closer and closer to the edge. Somewhere, an owl hooted mournfully. For some reason, it chilled her, like ice poured into her veins. There shouldn't even _be_ owls in a habitat like this.

Another window peeked out from the wall. As she inched closer, her eyes felt drawn to the glass. It was a mirror into nothingness, jet black and revealing nothing from within, as though it reflected the blackness of the night sky. Suddenly, a face appeared.

Zelda recoiled, yelping, then jamming her teeth together to stop herself from screaming. She whirled, her arms flapping, as the sky spun around above her. She was going to fall! _She was going to fall!_ Her wits took over, and she forced all the weight of her body into the heels of her feet. She steadied herself, panting, and flung herself back against the wall, delighting in its comfort. Zelda stood there for a while, eyes closed, trying to regain her breath. A noise made her turn her head, and she saw that the window had now opened.

Dread clutching at her heart, Zelda sank to her knees. A small boy, his eyes a piercing green, poked his head out. "What are you doing, Dream Lady?"

Zelda blinked. "Dream Lady?"

"Yes." The boy's voice was filled with curiosity, showing no hint of alarm. "A lady comes to my dreams every night and brings me food and toys." He looked her up and down, then frowned. "You don't have food and toys, do you?"

"No," Zelda said, whispering. "I don't. I am sorry."

Disappointment lined his face. "Oh." He paused, as though hoping it was some trick and she would surprise him, before continuing. "You look silly. Why don't you just go downstairs and go through the door if you want to go outside?"

"I can't," she replied. Her temple was throbbing now. What was she to do? "I don't want anyone to see me."

"Oh!" he said. He frowned for a moment, then his face lit up.

"What is it?" Zelda asked.

"You could go through the secret way. It's through the wardrobe in my room."

"There's a secret way?"

"Yes," he replied. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "So Old Masher can't see me. Sometimes I pretend to be in my room, then go through the wardrobe and outside."

Zelda pursed her lips, pondering. Was this all a child's imagination run wild? After all, he had mistaken her for someone from his dreams.

"I suppose," he continued. "You don't want Old Masher to find you, too?"

"Who is Old Masher?" Zelda asked. "Does he own this cottage?"

The boy nodded. "And he's mean and horrible."

A sudden thought, filling her with sadness at its implications, came into her mind. "Is Old Masher your father?"

The boy laughed, and Zelda tensed, thinking the noise too loud. "No. No, he isn't." Moonlight fell on his face, giving him a ghostly appearance. "He's a slavemaster." The bitterness in his voice made him sound like an adult, and Zelda's heart sank, like lead in an ocean. "He doesn't own me though." The boy looked up at her. "So, do you want to escape or not?"

Seeing no reason not to believe him, and hoping that her judgement was not faulty, Zelda sighed, saying, "Lead the way."

Zelda entered the room, feeling strangely awkward that she would be privy to a boy's quarters, no matter how young he was. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Jastlin," he answered, before adding proudly, "It means, 'Strong.'"

She smiled. "I'm sure you are."

Jastlin opened the door to his wardrobe, releasing a musty smell into the air. Zelda waited, swallowing, the uncertainty gnawing at her. There was a click, then a snap, and Zelda saw the back of the wardrobe come away, revealing a long tunnel. Not caring about the hows and whys, Zelda bounded in, stopping to lean down and kiss the boy on his forehead. "Thank you so much," she said. "My name is Zelda." A mischevous thought came to her. "I'm a Princess!"

Jastlin looked up at her. "I knew that," he said softly. "So is the Dream Lady. I won't tell anyone I saw you."

"Thank you," she said, grinning. Turning, she entered the passage, and her smile grew wider as the boy's last words floated to her: "But you do have such funny ears!"

The tunnel, dank and dark as it was, slowly curled downwards. Drops of water plopped to the ground from the ceiling; the sound magnifying and echoing in the enclosed space. Zelda's heart was still tight; uncertain as she was to where exactly this passage led. She wouldn't feel any true relief until she was far away from both the cottage and Malon.; though, where exactly she would go, she still didn't know. All that mattered was that she had to find Link. _Somehow._

A sudden gust of fresh air told her that an exit was near, and Zelda picked up speed, hoping to be free. Shallow water, dirty and splattering her shins with mud, splashed under her feet. She kept her eyes wide open, looking for the telltale sign of escape.

_There._ Starlight peeked in from an opening straight ahead, and she knew that she found the exit. Sighing with relief, she began to run, her mouth widening in a grin as she burst out into the fresh air, turned...and collided into Old Masher and Malon.

"Feisty one," the fat man said, sneering.

"Oh yes, mister," Malon replied. "I told you she would try something like this."

"Be grateful," Old Masher growled, "that I know Jastlin so well. Ha! He thinks i'm not even aware of his 'secret.'"

Zelda's heart threatened to burst with grief as the fat man curled his chubby fingers around her chin. She glared up at him defiantly, but that only set off his laughter. "Oh, I like that," he leered, nodding. "We'll get a good price for you. Oh yes we will, my pretty."

...

The slave markets was more horrendous than Zelda could ever have imagined. To her it felt like misery given form. All the slaves, their spirits broken and necks bowed, were huddled together in tiny, ramshackle cages, paraded before plump, well-to-do men, dressed in fine silks and covering their mouths from the stench. And what a stench it was - human filth oozed out from the cells, congealed on the ground and baked under the sun. Though it was winter, the heat of so many people packed closely together was enough to coat the whole place with an unholy atmosphere.

Disbelief racked at the young Harkinian's mind. How could people be so cruel to one another? She felt all her hopes, all her beliefs about the goodness of people untie one by one, the knots that kept her sane unraveling hour by hour, minute by minute.

Malon and Old Masher pushed her on, parading her in front of a denizen of traders, each of them examining the goods in a manner that filled Zelda with shame. If only she had her knives. If she still had her weapons, she would cut each and every one of these animals. Cut them where they'd always remember the scar. Slowly, ever so slowly, Zelda could feel her hate grow; not only towards these people, but to her own family who had filled her heart and head with lies about the basic purity of people. Maybe Link was right. Maybe it was best to slaughter those who hadn't deserved to live because of the way they wasted their lives. No, she frowned. It wasn't Link who had said that. It was Malon.

Zelda tried to avoid the gazes of those in their cages. Every time she glanced at their faces, her heart broke. Their eyes shone with defiance, but their bodies sagged with defeat. Zelda wanted to weep.

She glanced around, looking for yet another chance to escape. Both her captors shadowed her closely, and this time they had placed iron shackles around her wrists and ankles. They bit into her skin painfully. The murmur of voices, coated with either despair or the hope of a good purchase, washed over her, making her dizzy. She felt nauseous. The smell, the voices, the atmosphere of defeat that hung in the air like something physical - it was all too much for her. Death to her, at this moment, seemed like a very sweet prospect.

"I'll buy her!" Zelda's back stiffened at the sound of the voice. Coupled with Malon's now gloating face, she realised that she had been sold. Sold. Like an animal. Her heart felt like a dead weight. Still she struggled as Old Masher pushed her towards her owner: a grinning, gap-toothed man with scaly skin and receding hair.

"No!" she spat. "Please, don't."

The slaver laughed, enjoying the spectacle. "That sort of attitude will come in useful, I think."

Remembering her escape from the bandit camp, Zelda stamped down her foot on Old Masher's boot. It didn't work. He was too strong, his bulk too large. He yanked her hair back, growling in anger.

Licking his lips, the slaver watched her for a heartbeat. "Mark her!"

Out of nowhere, one of his minions grabbed her arm, and rolled up the sleeve. Horror descended on Zelda's mind as she realised what was about to happen, and struggled frantically, but to no avail.

She screamed as the hot needle stabbed into her arm, almost fainting as the smell of burning fat reached her. She sagged, this time letting her tears free, as the tatooist marked her as a slave, etching a small symbol onto her arm. Her mind whirled, a splitting pain piercing her soul. It was too much. It was just too much.

The world dimmed around her, draining of colour and meaning. No words made any more sense to her. She didn't recognise anything around her - not the people, the surroundings, not even her own self.

She was barely aware of being hustled into a cage, not even registering the stares and the occasional word of sympathy that now surrounded her. Sinking to her knees, Zelda sobbed, hoping against hope for the world to end. She had once thought she knew what it meant to be heartbroken. She was wrong. What she felt now, this sensation that her heart had physically been torn in two - this was the true meaning of a broken heart.

A commotion from outside caught the other slaves' attention. Zelda ignored it, though she was aware, through the haze of numbness, of a woman screaming in protest, and some of the slaves chuckling in satisfaction. The huddled mass surged forward as the cage door creaked open, but they were beaten back by whips and sticks.

A newcomer was pushed into the cage. "How dare you!" she screamed. "After all I did for you!"

A man's voice laughed in response. Zelda recognised it as Old Masher's. "Did you think I'd share the profits with you?" he spat. "No. You've served your purpose. Two for the price of one. A good day's trade, I think."

Zelda looked up, noticing the newcomer for the first time. The woman stared back, hatred in her eyes, and anger setting her mouth in a stiff line. "So," said Malon, acidic bitterness in her voice, "what was that about us helping each other?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

__

Time will expand as you learn...a minute will seem like an hour...an hour like a day....a day like a week...a week like a century. I accelerated the process, and I've given you the tools...now it's up to you utilise both your time and those selfsame tools.

The Teacher's words rolled around Link's mind as he sat, cross-legged, perched upon the roof of one of the stone buildings of the Village of the Lost. His tongue buzzed, and his heart hummed. The words rolling around his mouth were the names of the Divine, each with their own special power, each with their own connection to the Unseen, and each brought his heart and soul up from the depths.

His heart throbbed with light, a blossoming sweetness of spirit that connected him to the whole world, and then to the One Himself. The presence of the Divine was awe-inspiring in itself, but also comforting, making Link realise how tightly-knit his own life was to his surroundings. It was as though a dark shroud had been lifted from his eyes, and now his sight was piercing. He _sensed_ the One as He pushed the breeze to make the grass flutter, as He pulled the sun up from its slumber and as He, more intimately, permitted Link's heart to beat one thump at a time. The effect was intoxicating, but moreso was the spark of power he now felt in his own heart. He felt that if he could _push_ with his soul, he too could influence what was going on around him. But only, Link realised, if the One permitted it.

It was a strange sensation, and it had been one that taken a lot of effort to achieve. The Teacher had taught him that before the creation of the world, all creatures had been gathered and been infused with a spirit and an ego. A choice was then placed before them as they entered their lives -do they obey their spirit that connected them to the One, or do they follow their ego, which made them cling to their selfish, petty desires? The One Himself had had many names and forms - some thought Him three, others believed him to be female. In truth, the Teacher taught, He was none of those things, His essence too immense to be understood. "Even calling Him 'He'," the Teacher remarked, "is not neccesary. But," he added with a wry smile, "it's better than referring to Him as 'It'."

Link, however, did not bother himself with details. Whether or not the Teacher's tale was true or a version of the truth, he did not care either. What mattered was that what he was being taught actually worked, though it had taken him a while to grasp it. The Teacher would have him work all hours of the day and night, doing nothing except serve the people. He would send Link to the most grotesque of the Lost to assist in their most basic functions. This, the Teacher said, was to show him to look beyond outer forms. Other times, the Teacher would ask him to do something at times which Link found the most inconvenient - times when he desperately needed to rest, or to eat, or just to sit and reflect. The Teacher accepted no excuses. "Slay your ego," he said, "and let your spirit free."

And, without him even knowing it, Link began to change. The sincere and heartfelt thanks he received from those he helped softened the ice that made up his heart. Mostly, it came from the children, whose expressions of pure delight struck him to the core, disturbing him. As he involved himself more and more in the life of the village, Link saw how much of a bubble his own life had been - he had never been able to see more than beyond the end of his and Mystral's immediate needs. That other people felt the same as him, shared the same worries, and had the same hopes and fears was like a bolt of lightening to his mind. Eventually, he no longer cared whether he was thanked or, as sometimes was the case, reviled. His satisfaction came from being able to still his own desires to serve others. It refreshed his heart, now that he knew that he didn't have to give in to all his impulses; now that he knew that he _was_ far better than an animal.

He realised now that Zelda had been right all along. Every person did have a pure core, every thing did had have a right to life. Yet, throughout history, people had made the wrong choices, giving in to their selfish impulses and tyrannizing both themselves and others. They oppressed themselves by not living up to the potential that their life had given them. They oppressed others by seeing them as means to satisfy their own lusts.

He realised, too, that Zelda was the one that had set this all in motion. The Teacher had only completed what she had started.

Thinking of Zelda was bittersweet. He ached to see her again, to tell her that his outlook now matched hers, but at the same time the Teacher's words haunted him, like hooks in his heart. "You sacrifice your own needs," he said, "for the needs of others. Had everyone in the world followed this, instead of the opposite, then there would be much harmony in our lives." Link mused over this. His own need was to be with Zelda - hopefully, as honour demanded, to one day unite with her in marriage. A smile came to his lips at that - the childish hope in his heart embarrassed him. Yet, at the same time, for the world to continue, Zelda had to die. It was a conundrum that he was not yet willing to face.

Link opened his eyes to find that the landscape had changed. Dark clouds rolled in the distance, throwing churning shadows onto the barren ground. Lightening flashed from above, the sky winking an incandescent blue. He looked down to find his blade laying in front of him. This was the final thing that the Teacher had given him - the ability to fight with a purpose. The world was not perfect, and those that had subdued their egos had to defend others from those that let their egos run free.

A gust of wind struck his face as he mused, throwing grit and ice against his skin. He picked up the sword, its polished steel glimmering under the flashes of light. "This," the Teacher had said, "is the Master Sword. This is your heritage." The blade felt weighty, as though it carried a power all of its own, and the edges were still sharp - a startling feat for a weapon that had supposedly existed for centuries.

The Teacher had told him that the sword had belonged to the Hero of Time himself. Despite Link's constant prodding, his mentor refused to reveal what he knew about the Hylian's ancestor; so much so that the former assassin missed Fran bitterly and wished he had taken the time and patience to listen to the old man. Another smile came to him now. Not only would Zelda be pleasantly surprised by his 'conversion,' but so would Fran. A hole opened deep inside as, at that moment, he missed all his friends intensely. He let the feeling pass.

Link stood, throwing one last look at his strange surroundings, still bubbling with a life of its own. So. The Village has disappeared. The people had gone. The sun, which should be heralding a new day now, had vanished. This was clearly another test in a series of tests that the Teacher had prepared for him. Stilling the anxiety in his heart, Link steeled himself for what was to come.

His mind drifted back to the Test he had performed for the Assassin's League the night before the Coronation. It seemed like so long ago now. It probably was - Link felt like he had lived in the Village of the Lost for many, many summers. He remembered himself back then - impulsive, naive and ignorant - and felt a wave of shame. So much had changed.

Many a time he had wanted to simply leave. He still had to find Mystral and Zelda, if they even lived, but the Teacher would not permit it. He assured the former assassin that both were safe, and that Link had to trust in the One. Reluctantly, the young Hylian agreed. There was a time and a place for everything - his meeting with destiny could neither be put off, nor hastened.

Opening the door to the stairway that led back down, Link entered, his senses alert. What he found was not a flight of stairs, no - he found himself in a room, its air worn out as though nothing fresh had entered it for decades, with no lamps or source of light at all. He closed the door behind him, letting the darkness fall.

Link gripped the Master Sword and waited. No sound came. Closing his eyes, he _pushed_ outward with his heart, connecting to the Unseen and probing all the corners and the cracks of his new surroundings. First, he found nothing, only an empty hollowness that almost overwhelmed him with its loneliness had he not kept the One focused in his mind. His ability was limited - only the One had access to all knowledge - but Link could still detect others who were in close proximity to him. Find them, and also ascertain whether their hearts were free or chained by their desires.

He focused the eye of his heart in a slow, circular patter around the room. Still nothing. Another empty spot passed. And another. And...

__

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A beating heart shone out like a beacon, black from the many stains of evil that encrusted it.

"Show yourself," Link whispered, raising his sword to a defensive position and digging his heels in.

The newcomer - a male, Link realised - did not reply, except to move in closer, swinging what Link knew to be a sword of his own.

Hot, glowing sparks burst out of the darkness as the two blades collided, fizzling away into nothingness just as quickly as they had appeared. Link disengaged, swinging around in a wide arc, knowing that the man was matching the move. Again the two swords collided with each other, again red sparks sizzled, singeing the air.

They fought on, a parry here, a jab there, a strike here, a deflection there. The only sign of their tussle were the random winks of flame that popped in and out of existence.

Swords locked as they reached a stalemate. A pause followed, each contemplating their next move. Metal slid against metal as they broke free again. Link had enough to time realise that the other man's heart was beating wildly now, and knew that another swing was coming. The Hylian ducked, feeling the blade slice the air above his head, then fell back on his hands, his sword clanging to the ground, and threw his legs up, his boots cracking into the man's jaw.

The darkness shattered and Link found himself in a field, flowers of myriad colours surrounding him, the sun beating down on his back, making his tunic sticky with sweat. Another illusion.

A grunt from behind him made Link spin around. Facing him, its arms covered in armour, its belly quivering with flab, was a drooling creature that the Teacher had once told him was called a Goron. Coal-black eyes fixed Link with hatred, as saliva hung from its snarling mouth.

"A little one," it growled. "You cannot best me. I am the Butcher of Beladose, the Slayer of Sendon; I once took on a whole legion of the King's soldiers and left behind me a bloodbath with nary a scratch on my own, chiselled physique."

Link let out a breath, calming his heart, and swung his sword around to face the monstrosity. "Nice."

A bellow of rage boomed out from the Goron. "Do not mock me," it shouted, "I can eat three of your kind for breakfast."

Link's eyes flicked down to the creature's quivering stomach. "It seems like you've already had a dozen."

The taunts were calculated. Before, in his 'old' life, Link would have intended them as wounds, sharp words that covered not only his own anxiety, but also revealed the hatred he had for life. This time they were just a ploy to enrage the beast into a clumsy attack.

It worked. Roaring, the Goron sprang forward, it's meaty arms lunging for the young Hylian. Link dodged the attack easily, spinning on his heels. He put one foot forward, preparing for an attack and then....froze, his eyes bulging as he realised his mistake. So confident had he been that he'd forgotten his own assassin's training to scan his opponent for weapons.

The Goron yelled in triumph as it raised its modified crossbow and fired over and over in rapid fashion, a balloon of orange flame expanding and popping again and again.

Link's serenity evaporated instantly, melting like ice flung into a furnace, and the cold stab of fear spiked his heart. Moving only on instinct and the blood pounding in his veins, Link leapt, yelling, as the sharp-tipped hornets screamed through the air towards him. One sliced his shoulder, and another bounced of his ankle. Link landed hard, rolling, his body now a bloody mess. His arm had twisted awkwardly under him.

Scrambling for cover in amongst the tall reeds, Link heard the Goron laugh, and his rage bubbled over. Stalks broke with a snap as the Hylian seethed. It was a wonder that the beast hadn't noticed him yet. Teeth clenched, his wounds now aching, Link reached for his own crossbow, murderous thoughts flashing across his mind. He swung the weapon into position, flicked the switch, and breathed in deeply as the scent of burnt powder overwhelmed his senses, making him giddy. Just like old times.

Link's eyes narrowed. The oaf was stumbling about, completely oblivious to the assassin's presence. Lining up the tip of the steel with the Goron's head, Link could almost the satisfaction he was sure to taste when the arrow split the creature's head.

The thought jolted him back to reality. This was wrong. All wrong. He was fighting, not out of defence, but to satisfy his primal urge for revenge. Closing his eyes, Link slid down into the undergrowth, letting his crossbow drop.

"What's the matter, little boy?" the Goron crowed as he searched for Link's hiding place. "Wet yourself, have you?" Another bellowing laugh followed.

Ashamed that his old self had re-emerged so easily, Link blocked out the words, desperately trying to control his frantic breathing. Slowly, slowly, he regained control - focusing his heart on the One, and realigning himself with the rest of the universe. The Divine Names flew from his lips in whispered breaths, and the effect was instantaneous. Peace descended on his soul, the urgings of his ego vanishing like the remnants of a nightmare slowly fading from memory. The thudding of his heart became more regular, and it felt as though a leaden weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Cautiously Link stood, facing his tormentor. The sharp jabs of his wounds dullled as the Goron finally noticed him.

"Ah ha," the creature said, smug satisfaction overflowing from his voice. "Decided to fight and die, eh?"

Link raised his sword. "Let's try that again," he whispered. "I was momentarily distracted by the hypnotic swaying of your bloated torso."

Screaming with rage, the Goron fired off a volley of arrows once again, his hand trembling from left to right.

This time Link was ready. He _connected_ to the world, his heart now a conduit between the Seen and Unseen realms. He _felt_ the arrows tear through the atmosphere, _felt_ their grainy wood and steel tips, _tasted _the wind driving them onwards. Link _moved, _quicker than an eye could follow_. _His sword was a shimmering metallic blur as he swung left and right, up and down, around and around, deflecting every single arrow that _zinged_ into his blade.

Not even pausing for breath, the young Hylian somersaulted forwards, landing in front of the Goron and, with one fluid movement, swung his blade into the creature's armour. The Goron, shock coating its eyes, deflected the first blow, but Link rode the momentum, swinging around again and slicing through the metal protecting the creature's left arm. Stumbling back, the Goron reached back, drew his own sword, and swung it downwards, the steel catching the sun's light in a sharp, dazzling flash.

Link was too quick. Heart pounding and soul soaring, the former assassin swung his own blade up to meet the attack. Such was the strength in Link's attack that the Goron's sword flew from its fingers. It whirled in the air for a heartbeat, then fell back down to earth. The Hylian leapt up, caught the flying weapon, and spun _over_ the flabby creature to land right behind him. Sensing victory, Link swung both swords around in a wide arc, hoping to strike straight through -

- the Goron vanished, as did the field, the flowers and the sun. The Teacher stood before him, a wide grin etched on his face. "Bravo!" he said, clapping. "Nicely done!"

Link bowed his head slightly, trying to catch his breath. He spun his blade, chopping the air, then slid the weapon back into its sheath with a metallic whisper. "Thank you." He tried not to feel any pleasure at his mentor's compliments. Even that, he knew, was just the whispers of the ego.

"Come," the Teacher said, gently guiding Link by the arm. "The Village Elders are holding a meeting. There are important things to be discussed."

Hot wax dripped from the candles that lined the corridors as Link followed the Teacher down to where the Elders usually met. He was relieved to see that his wounds, too, were nothing but an illusion. "Where's Harlequin?" he asked.

The Teacher dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "Oh, making himself useful, I'm sure," he said. "Or should that be," he pondered, frowning, "he's making a nuisance of himself as usual." He blinked, then shook his head. "Never mind."

Link smiled. Harlequin had been his most faithful companion during his stay in the Village. Never once complaining about his lot in life, and always there to lend a hand whenever the Teacher demanded something, Link knew that he had a lot to learn from his bandit friend.

The Teacher came to a sudden stop, churning up dust in the process, and opened a door. "Wait here," he said, "I have something to give you."

Eyebrows raised, Link did as he was told, listening to the Teacher rummage about in the room. Finally he appeared, carrying a length of cloth in his arms. Link gasped as he realised what it was. "A cloak of initiation?" he said, not quite trusting his eyes.

The Teacher smiled and nodded, holding the cloak out him. Gingerly, Link took it, feeling the smooth velvet under his fingers. Black on the outside and lined emerald green on the inside, the cloak was given to those who had reached the lower levels of the Path. Whoever wore one was now recognised as a Boneyward Warrior, though to reach the status of a 'Teacher,' would still take many many summers.

Shock and joy fought in Link's heart. He stumbled over his words. "I don't deserve this." He pushed the cloak back. "I'm not ready."

The Teacher fixed him with a stern gaze. "I am to judge who is ready or not," he said softly. "And you, dear Link, are very much ready."

With trembling hands, the young Hylian fixed the cloak to his shoulders and then, in a moment of spontaneous emotion, grabbed the Teacher in a fierce hug. A sense of humbling relief swirled through his soul. Had he now, after all he'd done, been redeemed? He blotted the treacherous thought out as quickly as it appeared. No, of course not. But he was not going to let that spoil this movement. He desperately wished Zelda were here to share this with him.

The Teacher laughed, ruffling the youngster's hair. "Come," he said. "Let us see what awaits in the Council Chamber."

It did not take them long to reach their destination. They strode into the circular room, their cloaks flapping behind them, and caught the attention of everyone sitting on the floor around their Chief. Some bowed their heads in respect, others gasped at Link's new status, while yet more merely raised their eyebrows.

A curtain of smoke hung in the air, the results of too many people puffing on too many pipes. Link and the Teacher took their place in the circle, their presence a balm due to the serenity they exuded. Now that he was here, Link wondered what exactly this meeting was about. Usually they focused on petty disputes that the Lost expected the Teacher to arbitrate over, but this time Link sensed something was different. He noticed, as drinks were passed around, that worry lined the faces of those around him. Knitting his gloved fingers, Link waited for the Chief to speak.

The man in question sat in the centre, half his face melted, a sign that he was of the Lost, and chewed on a Cucco bone. Finally, as though realising everyone was here was supposed to be here, he flung the bone into a tin plate, and spoke, but not before belching. "Marauders," he spat. "From the Outer Regions. They keep picking on the outskirts of our village. News has come to me, though, that they're planning a take over." He paused, letting his eyes settle on his audience. "They want this land."

Urgent whispers rushed around the gathering like a forest fire. One of the Elders held up his seven fingers for attention. "What could they possibly want with us?" he asked nervously. "There's nothing here for them. Sometimes they take our livestock. Sometimes," here his voice soured, "they take our women. But aside from that, there is nothing."

"We fight!" someone barked.

"They are too strong," another added in a voice laced with scorn. "They are warriors. We are not."

Another Elder, his nose a mangled wreck, added, "I say let them have it." Fire burned in his eyes as he watched every one in turn. "We're nomadic people. We can somewhere else to live."

A chorus of "Ayes" followed. The Chief turned to the Teacher, indicating for him to speak. Silence fell as all eyes turned to the Boneyard Warriors. A few coughs followed. Link waited expectantly.

To everyone's surprise, especially Link's, the Teacher turned to the Hylian and said, "What do _you_ think?"

The former assassin felt their eyes burn into him and his mind whirled with ideas. Taking in a deep breath, he stilled the turmoil inside, before coming to a decision. He spoke in a soft voice. "This land is your right, as no one but yourselves have possessed it." Pausing, he arranged his thoughts. "It would be wrong to capitulate this to the Marauders just because of their supposed strength. It is not right that they should satisfy their lusts in such a manner." He took in a deep breath. Excitement rose in his chest. "We fight. I can arrange the defences. I will even lead the charge."

The Teacher turned to the Chief. "What say you?"

The leader of the Lost chewed on his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "I say 'aye.'"

Link grinned. "We should not let them win," he added. "It isn't _just."_

A roar of approval swept the Chamber, and Link was pulled to his feet as the Elders clasped his hands and thumped him on the back. His grin spread wider, his heart bubbling with joy. Looking left and right, he searched for the Teacher. He pushed through the throng as soon as he spotted him, saying, "Did you see that? They actually respect my opinion. This will be a glorious victory, you wait and -"

A swift kick to the shins brought Link to his knees. Confusion and shame burned him, especially as he caught the Elders' laughter. Looking up at the Teacher he demanded, "What was _that_ for?"

"It seems," the Teacher replied, his voice and expression grave. "That _someone_ still needs to keep his ego in check."

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Link to ponder on his words.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Anju let out a deep breath, not realising for how long she had let it well up from inside, as she smoothed the hair of her sleeping son, Hobert. Sunlight flitted in through the curtains, rays of warmth that fell on the makeshift crib. The rest of the room, where the sun's breath did not touch, was still cold.

Angry voices floated up from the lower level of the Harkinian safehouse. Anju closed her eyes, wincing in pain. Another argument. Sometimes she wondered why no-one had discovered them, so loud were their sharp voices. It had been bad for all them. The constant waiting, the cramped environment - she marvelled at the fact that the whole Harkinian family, including herself and her son, had managed to live here for so long in such relative harmony.

Softly she padded her way to the door, a habit that she had acquired first from her marriage, and second from the birth of her son. Men, she realised, did not like to be woken, whether they were babes in a crib or fully grown adults. A wry thought slipped into her mind. Was there really any difference?

The wooden steps creaked under her feet as she made her way down, their protests mirroring the aches she felt from her weary body. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. The events of the past few months and aged her; indeed, sometimes she would glance at her reflection in a passing window and be startled at what she saw. She no longer recognised her own self.

The voices grew louder as she reached the bottom and Anju imagined that she could feel a changing in the atmosphere, as though the air itself had become more tense, charged with nervous energy. It was a silly thought, she knew. They'd been waiting for - how long was it now? She shook her head, having lost track of time. Every day in the safehouse was so alike in its mundaneness that she could no longer differentiate between them. But, yes, they'd been waiting for a long time for the King's allies to arrive. Hope was no longer a familiar friend to her, and she faced each day with a numb sense of acceptance. Only the thought of her son prodded her to pull herself out of bed every morning.

She recognised the sensation. She'd seen it amongst the Harkinians, and amongst those women whose husbands beat them and amongst young men whose attentions were not returned by the objects of their desires. The physicians in the city had a name for the illness - Black Melancholy.

Then, as abruptly as she had thought about it, she dismissed it with a laugh. No. She wasn't sick. She was perfectly normal. It was those around her who were sick, and it fell on her to show them how to heal themselves. Bolstered by this notion, she entered the main room where the argument was being held.

Heads turned at her presence, their voices trailing off. Perhaps it was the way Anju was now carrying herself, perhaps it was the determination that had set on her face, but all of them seemed to be waiting for her to make some sort of grand pronouncement. Anju almost laughed again.

"How are you, lassie?" Fran asked. He sat at one side of the room, a significant distance between him and the King, with Mystral resting her head on his shoulder.

Anju tried to force the strength into her voice so she wouldn't reveal how tired she actually was. "I'm well. And you?"

Smiling, Fran bowed his head slightly. "As well as can be expected."

"The child," Montero said, Impa by his side. "You put him to sleep?"

"Yes," Anju replied, her voice testy. "Not that you've ever shown him any concern." She turned to capture all of them with her stare. "You'll wake him up with your petty disputes. At least let one person in this house have some peace." It was gratifying to her to see some of their heads drop, though she had known that it would only be Mystral and Fran who would do so. "What, pray tell, has irritated you all now?" Acid flooded her voice. "Can't decide which one us women will wash your clothes? Or perhaps you wish we were your mothers, ready and willing to coddle you? Is that it? Are you envious of Hobert because of that?"

Her words were aimed at her husband and the King, since the two of them were usually the instigators of any disruption. It was, with a nervous cough to attract attention, Kafei who replied. "I wanted the two of us to run food errands today instead of Fran and Impa. I thought it would be good for us to taste some fresh air and be out of this house for a while."

As usual, whenever Anju regarded her husband, her heart was conflicted with both intense hatred and pitying tenderness. Hatred that he had so callously betrayed the Harkinians, tenderness that everything he did was just so he could protect her and Hobert. It made her both swoon and feel sick at the same time. She seethed inwardly. _Foolish man!_ And here, again, he was displaying that side of him, that caring heart that had drawn her to him so long ago. How could one person be so cruel and kind all at once?

"And I forbid it," the King interjected. His eyes honed in on Anju. "I know you. You'll want to take your son with you." His mouth twitched. "You don't trust us with him.."

"That, at least, is true," she replied.

He hissed, rolling his eyes. "And that is exactly why I won't allow it. The baby will be a liability. What if he starts crying? He'll draw attention to you, and that could draw attention to _us._"

Anju took a step forward, her eyes flashing. "In case it hasn't caught your attention," she spat, "a Hylian now rules this city. Not _you._ You can't forbid or permit me to do anything."

Montero's face drained of colour as Mystral gasped in the background. Anju didn't know exactly what had prompted her to say those words, but the irritation she felt towards most of the people in that room at that moment had become almost unbearable. She was determined to hold her ground in this clash. She was determined to show them that she wasn't some shy, retiring good wife who let her husband run her life for her.

Impa rose slightly. "His Majesty is concerned for all of us. That is all." It was clear to Anju that the young woman was moving swiftly to dampen the situation. She must have had a lot of experience to be able to react so calmly.

Anju opened her mouth to reply, but a movement from the King cut her off. Turning his face away, Montero dismissed her haughtily. "Be quick about it."

Anju blinked in surprise. Had she just won? And had she won so easily? Kafei, a grin perched on his face, gave her no time to ponder, taking her by the arm and pulling her out of the room. As she left, she managed to catch glimpses of Mystral smiling and the King scowling.

"Get Hobert!" he said, his eyes twinkling. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Anju even felt her heart soften to him once more. Smiling, she bounded up the stairs, gently picked up her slumbering son, and rejoined her husband outside.

Anju heard a call from behind her, and turned to see Mystral's beaming face. "Here," the woman said, pushing a bag of coin into Kafei's hands, "you'll need this." Now she turned to Anju, curling her fingers around her hands. "I have a feeling this will be good for the two of you," she said softly. Anju smiled, feeling touched by the hope she detected in Mystral's voice. For a moment she wondered who exactly this woman really was - how could Mystral so easily overlook Kafei's actions to care only about the state of Anju's marriage to him? It was too late for her to ask, even if she had wanted to, as Mystral darted back into the house,closing the door behind her.

Kafei's good humour hadn't left him. "Thank you, dear," he said, guiding Anju into the familiar streets of New Hyrule. The bag of coin now hung from his belt, tinkling with every step.

"For what?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

He turned to her, an expression of pure adoration on his face. "For standing up for me in front of the King." He sighed contentedly, a proud gesture. "That's the girl I remember marrying. The one who would be a rock by my side no matter what."

Anju opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it. He obviously thought that her little display of defiance had been for him and not for her own gratification. Seeing how happy he was, she didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. She'd been married too long now to know that sometimes men needed boosts to their hearts like this, and it was far better - and far more convenient to marital peace -to let them think that they were, indeed, the center of the world like each of them truly believed themselves to be.

Shifting her son from one arm to another, they strode down the narrow pathways. This was supposed to be the Kokiri Quarter, but Anju realised that she had seen very few of the original inhabitants. Everywhere she looked she spotted her fellow Hylians, the tell-tale curve to their ears a sharp reminder of the change in the balance of power. No longer were she and her husband the odd ones out here. Now they fit in perfectly, though the pangs of alienation they felt bit deeper.

"Come." Anju raised her head at the sound of her husband's voice and saw that he had his arm outstretched invitingly. She tried to scowl, wanting to curse him for his foolishness, but found herself smiling instead. Again, the conflict bubbled inside - who had she married exactly? Who was this kind, cruel, honest, treacherous man?

Giving in with a mock-scowl, Anju settled herself in beside him, letting his arm curl around her. Her head resting against his shoulder, they walked along in silence, their quiet companionship not needing any words. She felt his heart beating in his chest, and breathed in deeply, savouring the serenity of the moment. Here, with her husband and her son, everything was at peace. Here was harmony. Here she was complete.

"Remember that?" Kafei said, pointing.

Anju strained to see what he was referring to, and smiled as her eyes came to rest on a small flower stall, once owned by a Kokiri, but now tendered by a Hylian. It was here that Kafei would come every day, buying a different flower each time, trying to win her over. It was a game that she had set - if he could buy her her favourite flower, she would then agree to speak to him. She'd been flattered by the attention and wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. The game, hastily devised as it was, lent her a little more time to ponder over things. In the end, the decision was taken out of her hands as Kafei, in a pique of frustration at being rebuffed every single day, finally bought _all_ the flowers in the shop, the act itself costing him a month's salary.

The memory brought a laugh flying from Anju's mouth, and she quickly had to shush her son back to sleep, so disturbed he was by the sudden noise. Kafei chuckled, too, and she knew, without even having to ask him, that he had been recalling the same thing as her.

Anju curled her a strand of her around her finger. "I remember. You were so obsessed." Her teeth flashed in a smile, indicating that she was teasing. "I should have called the authorities."

Kafei threw back his head and laughed. "But you didn't," he said. "You couldn't hold back what you felt inside. Admit it."

Eyebrow arching, Anju looked at him with mock-surprise. "My, how sure you are of yourself," she said. "What if I had a stream of suitors with which I played the same game? What if I was bored and wanted to pick and choose?"

Her husband chuckled in response. "You didn't. And you wasn't," he said. "Even back then, I knew you well."

"Oh, you know me, do you?"

Kafei nodded, grinning.

"Well, tell me this," she said, her eyes narrowing, but her smile growing. "Exactly what _is_ my favourite flower?"

Throwing back his head once more, Kafei laughed, a deep, throaty sound full of real joy. Anju grinned at his response. With a wave of his hand, Kafei gestured for her to follow. Anju's grin never left her face as she realised what he meant to do, though, at the same time, she knew it was wrong.

"Don't!" she protested weakly. "We don't have enough money."

He turned to her, a stern look in his eyes. "Madam," he said, the corners of his mouth quivering as he tried to stop himself from smiling. "I will not be challenged like that and not be allowed to respond."

Anju giggled, a girlish response that she'd thought she'd left long behind. Kafei reached the flower stall and stopped. His hand hovered over one yellow petalled stem, his face wrinkled in deep thought. Anju raised another eyebrow while she waited. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he turned around, winked at his wife, and plucked the correct flower - a purple rose - from the display.

Handing over the money, Kafei turned back to her and, his eyes filled with tenderness, pushed the stem into Anju's hair. She felt herself blush. How long had it been since she'd felt like this? "Thank you," she whispered.

They continued in silence for a while, before her husband said softly, "I have to credit him with some gumption," They walked on slowly as Anju waited for him to continue. "I never thought he'd be able to achieve all this."

A frown creased her forehead. "Who?"

"Servion," Kafei replied, looking around. "It almost makes me proud to be a Hylian."

A sour taste coated Anju's tongue as she was jolted rudely back into reality. "I'm not proud," she spat. A cocktail of anger and bitterness swirled in her heart as she recalled Kafei's betrayal. She suddenly felt very cold, her earlier goodwill evaporating. "How could you do that to them? They were your family."

He didn't reply, nor had she expected him to. They'd had this conversation many many times in the past few months, and it always ended in raised voices and sharp words. Her eyes dropped to the floor, Anju suddenly finding the dirt collecting on the hem of her swishing skirts far more appealing than anything else.

"You are my family." Kafei's whispered words broke Anju out of her musings. She didn't take any comfort out of them. He'd said the same thing before, and all it had done, despite him not realising it, was to make her feel worse. Guilt gnawed at her - if she hadn't entered his life, the Harkinians would still be alive now. It made her head whirl just thinking about it; and she felt the curdled taste of bile rise from the very pit of her stomach to her throat.

Anju, recalling her previous life in the Hylian Quarter, wondered if she knew any of the conquerers. She'd spent most of her life there, knew most of the people, too, until, when she had reached her sixteenth summer, she'd been whisked away from her father to live with Kafei and the Harkinians. She'd not missed her father much, her mother having died long ago. She was her father's only child and his presence in her life had been cold, as though he could physically suck the life from everything around him. No, she hadn't missed him, and the hollowness in her heart that had resulted from her life with him had been easily filled by Kafei's attention. She, too, had sacrificed her family for her beloved. Now she wondered if it all had really been worth it after all.

Kafei stopped, his arm dropping from her shoulders. The chill rushed in on her instantly, but she shrugged it off. In front of them was a stall selling, amongst other things, bread, fruit, cheese and water. It was enough for them. Fran and Impa had scouted the city during their first day in the safehouse, marking all the places where they could buy food. They had decided that they would not buy from the same place twice. That way, no one would easily remember them.

Fran had carried some coin with him, but mostly they had had to sell some of the remaining furniture in the safehouse in order to raise some money. Soon that, too, would run out. Anju hoped that the King's allies arrived before then, though she knew that even _that_ was an unpleasant prospect. Instinctively she tightened her grip on her son - how was she to protect Hobert from the bloodbath that was certain to come?

After much bartering Kafei had bought himself a sizeable amount of food to carry home. Anju studied the package carefully, her mind quickly calculating. It would last three days, maybe a little more.

Kafei turned to her, his arm curling around her once more, and smiled. Her heart tugged as she saw the lines around his eyes, saw the tired expression engraved on his face. Once more, she felt her emotions battle within her heart.

"Let's go," he said. "It was nice to see everything once more, don't you think?"

Anju nodded, offering no words.

"Aren't you glad," he continued, "that I insisted on this?"

She wasn't going to correct him on exactly who had been responsible for this little outing. "I'm glad," she said, her voice sincere. "It seems so long since we had time to ourselves."

"Oh, don't worry," Kafei said, his spirits rising. "Once this is over, we'll have only ourselves to care about, only ourselves to share the rest of time with. I _promise_ you." He faced her, and the earnest flush to his face made him seem ever so innocent. All his fatigue had melted away, leaving the young man that she'd once wished to spend the rest of her days with. It made Anju want to cry.

Looking away, they walked back to the safehouse, the sky turning violet from the approaching twilight. The Hylian traders began to pack up their wares, their windows snapping shut as thick, rusted bolts slid across their doors. The breeze pushed gently, scattering dust, paper, and broken pieces of wood. Darkness was falling like a shroud, but it had no effect on the couple. They continued their conversation; to an outsider, it would have seemed dull and empty, but to the two of them it was filled with meaning and memories, especially as they pointed out to each other signposts from their shared past. It occurred to Anju, at that precise moment, that it would be very difficult for her to leave him, so entwined were their two lives.

Kafei's arm suddenly stiffened, and Anju's eyes darted up to meet his, noticing the colour draining from his face. "What is it?" she asked, her heart thumping.

"We're being followed!" he hissed.

Throwing a quick glance behind her, Anju spotted Servion's guards closing in on them at a rapid pace. The shadow of fear fell on her heart, a grinning face that threatened to snatch away her small moments of happiness. How had they recognised them? How had they known they were here?

Her husband grasped her her wrist and tugged, making her cry out in surprise. "Run!" he snapped.

Hot blood rushed to her head as they set off. She heard a cry from behind them and knew that they'd been spotted. Tears fell as Hobert's eyes snapped open in panic. She pulled him tighter to her as he began to wail. The surrounding Hylians, confused at the spectacle, parted so as not to hinder the soldiers' chase.

Despite the panic coursing through her veins, Anju couldn't help but feel this to be a familiar experience. It was just like that night when a Hylian Royal Assassin had almost killed Kafei. Onwards they ran, their boots slapping against the cobbled streets, darting in and out of a throng of people either too slow or too mesmerised to move out of their way. Past the silk market they went, crowded with higher class women, through the Kokiri Quarter gate, ignoring the stares from the guards, past the sweetmeat market, the heady scents watering their mouths, but not soothing their burning throats.

A myriad faces flew past; the cheerful smirks from the children, the women weaving in and out, their large, long lashed eyes twinkling out from beneath their scarves, and the scowling traders, honey pouring from their tongues as they tried to coax people to buy their wares, pausing only to scratch their large bellies and occasionally belch.

Anju, her head swimming and her lungs straining from all the effort, pushed the muscles of her aching legs to breaking point. Kafei guided them, taking a sharp left down a narrow alleyway, then lurching to the right to enter a dimly lit, deserted alcove. They stopped, laying back against the crumbling wall and gasping for breath. Kafei looked over at her and smiled. She responded in kind, relieved that they had escaped.

He reached out for her, and their fingertips touched. The solid reality was comforting.

"It's alright," he cooed softly. "Everything will be alright."

She nodded out of instinct. She believed him; she _needed _to believe him. There was no one here. It was completely deserted. At least, it had _appeared_ to be deserted.

Anju shrieked as the soldiers dropped from the sky. Her mind screamed in terror - how had they done that? Could they now fly?

Eyes as hard as diamonds bore down on the small family. One of the soldiers, clearly the leader judging by his clothing, stepped forward, signalling. A chorus of menacing hums rang through the air as the Hylians activated their crossbows. Anju felt hot sweat pour down her forehead and cold ice trickle in her heart.

The leader stepped forward, his crossbow aimed at Anju. "Look at this, a pair of traitors." He cocked his head at Kafei. "A _double _traitor, too." He waited for the smattering of laughter to die out. "Where are the others?"

Dread pounded Anju's mind as the steel tip of the arrow loomed large in her eyes. Somewhere in the back of her panic-wracked brain, she felt a sense of dark foreboding. Kafei! Kafei would betray the others to save her! "No!" she cried. "Don't tell them! Please, it's not worth it! I'm not worth it!"

Her vision flashed red for a heartbeat as she felt the slap sting her cheek. Blood rushed into her mouth.

"They're..." She recognised the voice as the sky continued to spin. It was her husband - sounding broken, forlorn and utterly defeated. "They're in the Harkinian safehouse."

"No..." she moaned, gasping.

"Excellent," a smug voice said.

Horror slammed into her confused heart as she heard the crack of a crossbow igniting; once, twice. She heard her husband grunt, then heard something heavy slump to the ground.

Anju stopped thinking. She just simply stopped thinking. She knew that, if she were to let her mind complete its thoughts, she would go insane. Somewhere a baby cried, and her soul split in two. Memories flooded her. Happiness, because of the birth of a new-born. Pride, as she cradled him in her arms. The baby screamed again. Why wasn't someone caring for the baby? What wretched parents he had!

Words bubbled to her lips, though she no longer knew what they meant or why she was saying them. "But I love you, Kafei."

Looking up, Anju could only see a grey landscape. Sharp, steely mountains stared back at her. Dimly, she remembered that she'd been in this exact same position sometime in the past. That time, she had been granted a reprieve. This time, she realised with dark certainty, there would be no such escape.

Anju heard a splintering crack before her world turned white, then red, then collapsed into darkness.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The morning sun, burning blood red, peeked up from the horizon, splitting the night sky and chasing the shadows away. It cast its wan light over the Village of the Lost and then, seemingly for a single heartbeat, the sun froze, catching a lone figure, clad in black, but now outlined with a crimson glow, as he stood on a high wall. Then, as though mimicking a shy maiden, the sun quickly vanished into the cloud that covered the Valley of Perpetual Night, not to be seen again except for a quick glance at twilight.

Link stood, statuelike, on the battlements, his cloak fluttering in the breeze, and scanned the cloud of mist that hung outside the village. The defensive wall was crude and hastily made, as was the uneven trench that they had dug in order to protect the village from the invaders. Both had been his idea, and he'd been the most enthusiastic to carry out most of the digging and building. On both his left and right he spied a pile of logs held in place by a rope that led from the earth to the wall. Down below, twitching with anxiety, a small army of the Lost waited, clad in mismatched armour and holding long disused weapons.

Link wasn't afraid to die. Death would release his spirit to reunite with the One; it would be the ultimate triumph. At least, he mused, that's what he told himself. Still. He knew that those under his command _were_ afraid and he was determined to make sure that there would be little blood spilt this day.

He'd spent the previous night addressing the villagers, bolstering their hearts with his words, and then running through final plans with the small group of soldiers he had assembled. Then he'd spent the night with friends, idling the hours away, or just sharing conversation. It was difficult, though, as many were the petitioners that demanded the Boneyard Warrior's attention. Still. Their requests were genuine, their kindness a gift. He felt a surge of love for all of them.

Before dawn he had patrolled the streets, smiling at those who had not managed to sleep, and offering comforting words to those terrified by what was to come. Children, gap-toothed wide smiles in tow, rushed up to him, offering him gifts, encouragement, or even words of advice. His presence, he knew, was a reassuring balm to all of them.

Dimly aware of a dull throb from his stomach, Link remembered that he'd vowed a fast to the One this day. Another one of the Teacher's methods, it taught him that if he could control his instinct for food, then he could control every other aspect of his soul, too. Not only that, but it drained both his heart and his body of anything superfluous, leaving him an empty vessel ready to be filled with light. The less he had of himself, the easier it was for him to tap into his surroundings, thereby taking his place as the summit of all created beings, as was his destiny, and the destiny of anyone else that chose to take this Path.

A whisper of a heartbeat caught on the wind, and Link smiled, instantly recognising the person who was desperately trying to climb the wall. "Hello, Harlequin," he said as the bandit, panting and wheezing, pulled himself up.

Pausing to regain his breath, Harlequin Jack looked up. "Well, well, mister. If it isn't our very own Guardian Spirit of Death."

Sadness flooded Link's heart. "Don't call me that," he said, his voice low. "I don't want to remember that."

"Oh, ho ho, really?" Harlequin grinned. "So this means I'm now perfectly safe up here with a Royal Assassin?"

Link flashed him a wicked grin, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, I wouldn't say _that_," he said, taking a menacing step forward. "After all, should I tumble from here, I'm going to need something to cushion my fall." He brought his finger to lips, his face frowning in thought. "I vote that I push you down first. That way, should I stumble, I can land on you and walk away unharmed."

Seeing the panic wash over the bandit's face made Link laugh heartily. "Peace, Harlequin," he said. "We're friends, remember?"

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Friends, hmm?" he said. "Now that's an interesting word. I thought you didn't have any friends?"

The former assassin pondered his words for a pair of heartbeats. "If you're wanting me to say that you were right and I was wrong," Link said slowly. "Then I concede that to you. You win."

Harlequin chuckled at the words, and Link raised an eye questioningly. "It's just that," Jack said, "you're even starting to even _sound_ like him now."

"Like who?" Link asked, though he knew the answer.

"The Teacher," Jack confirmed.

The young Hylian would have been secretly pleased had he let himself indulge in that emotion. But he knew better than that now - being _like_ someone else didn't matter, what mattered was how _he_ was as a person.

"And to think," the bandit continued, "you had to be forced into this."

"No one forced me to do anything," Link protested.

"Oh?" Jack said. There was a pause, and the bandit did not elaborate, choosing instead to say, "This was meant for you. You were supposed to come here. Supposed to find him. Supposed to be who you are now."

Despite trying to keep at bay his selfish desire for gratification, Link couldn't help but smile. Sadness blunted his newfound joy, however, as he recalled that Fran had been trying to same thing for many a summer.

"How's things down below?" Link asked, trying to change the subject. "Is everyone ready?"

Harlequin pursed his lips, the lines around his eyes tightening. "They're ready. They're ready to follow you anywhere." There was a hint of pride in his voice. "But they're frightened." A heartbeat passed as the words sank in. "They trust you."

"Trust in the One," Link said, his voice barely a whisper. Thoughts preoccupied his mind as his heart focused on the villagers. "Remember to milk Mainta's cow. She can't eat any food, so she depends on that." He closed his eyes, recalling all his duties. "Send someone to assist Gerub to storehouse his crops. He lost his sons, and his back is weak. He hopes to burrow in until the crisis has passed." Other errands rolled off Link's tongue as he delegated to Harlequin all the things that he wished he could do himself, but couldn't until this standoff was resolved.

As soon as the Hylian had finished his list, the bandit stood to leave, giving a mock-salute. "Yes, _sir._"

Link ignored him, choosing instead to pin his gaze on the swirling mist ahead, waiting for the enemy approach. He heard Harlequin scramble down the ladder, eager to carry out his orders. Hours passed. Then, like the faint winking of a distant star, a shimmer of movement caught the Hylian's eye. He waited, not showing one hint of unease. Dark, blurry shapes formed in the mist, an amalgam of man and animal. Soon they solidified, and Link saw the Marauders peel out of the gloom, riding on horseback, heavy hammers strapped to their back. Some, the former assassin noticed, even carried swords.

Nervous voices murmured from below him, and he knew that the Lost had been alerted to the newcomers' presence. Link made no motion to ease their fears. All he did was wait, his keen eyes following the warriors as they cautiously approached the trench. They were buzzing with conversation, and Link could sense the puzzlement in their hearts. They could find no way to cross the breach.

Stepping forward slightly, Link called out with one solitary command: "Leave."

Their heads snapped upwards at the sound of his voice, their armour clinking in time to their movements. One of them, a long haired, tattooed brute, pulled on the reins of his ride, swinging the horse around to face the wall. "That, my young friend," he called back, his voice cradling the soft, velvet tones of a nobleman, "is the last thing we wish to do."

The Boneyard Warrior offered no words; instead he pulled his crossbow free from his belt, ignited it and, aiming towards his right, fired. Quickly he swung his arm to the left, a wisp of smoke trailing in his vision, and fired again. The two arrows burned through the air, black needles of death that buzzed as they flew. One tore through the rope on the right, the other sliced the rope on the left.

There was creak, then a groan, like the protests of some vast beast rudely woken from a sweet slumber. The Maruaders glanced left and right, fear glossing their eyes. The two piles of logs trembled for a moment. A lull followed, as though all was safe, before one, solitary log toppled to the ground. Then, as though a dam had broken, both piles collapsed, pouring wood into the Valley and churning up dirt and splinters.

Horses neighing in terror, the invaders pulled themselves out of harms way, screaming all the while.

Link watched calmly as the stacked pile of wood began to settle. He heard a gurgle, and turned to see his other surprise trickle into the trench. Thick, foul smelling liquid, greasy brown in appearance, quickly filled up the hole they had dug. With a flick of his wrist, Link signalled to his soldiers below. Instantly another arrow, this one flickering with flame, flew straight up into the air, twirled, then fell straight down into the trench. There was a moment's pause where everyone stared, wide-eyed, at the mass of liquid, before a fountain of fire erupted with a roar, scattering horses in fear.

The tattooed Marauder spun around in his saddle, his face seething. "We shall return," he shouted. "You cannot delay us our victory with childish tricks such as this."

"No." The calm serenity in Link's voice made everyone pause. He ignored the pulsating heat in front of him, and said, "I wish to end this today." The young Hylian's mind raced as he fell back on his assassin's training. He'd had to learn about various races and tribes, memorising both their strengths, weaknesses and customs. "According to your code of honour," he said, "I have the right to call for a duel. Our best warrior against yours. If you win, this land is yours. If we win, you leave us forever in peace." He knew, deep inside, that there was nothing to stop them from dishonouring any agreement should the Lost be the victors. But he also knew, from his studies, that the Marauders were too deeply entrenched in their customs to shame themselves into breaking any treaty.

Link didn't even have to reach out to try and sense their decision. The tattooed one trotted his horse forward. "We accept," he called. "Name your champion."

"Me." Link sprung into the air, flipping over the wall of flame. As the wind tugged at him, he closed his eyes, _connecting _to the One, and then to the world around him. He imagined the air to be a solid, malleable mass, something that could be pushed into a shape of his choosing. He fashioned a cushion from it, placing it under his feet. He felt the wind itself twine and thread itself to obey his commands, and then felt his plunging momentum slow all of a sudden.

Opening his eyes, he found himself floating serenely downwards, _feeling _a bubble of air under his boots, but seeing nothing. Offering a whispered prayer of thanks to the One, he slid the Master Sword from its sheath, twirling it in his hand, the steel tip glistening orange from the raging fire behind him. As he reached the ground, Link stepped off the bubble deftly, facing the legion of Marauders, their mouths agape.

"How did you...?" the tattooed one croaked.

Link cut him off. "Name _your_ champion."

All eyes turned to the tattooed invader now, and his face momentarily flashed with panic. Quickly he composed himself, straightening his back. "I am."

Closing his eyes, Link _pushed_ with his heart, penetrating deep into the other man's soul. He saw flickers of light, swiftly smothered by darkness. He saw that what was straight had become twisted, and what was light had become black. His eyes flew open. "You lie."

The tattooed Marauder twitched, his expression not able to contain his rage. He pulled sharply on his reins, and waved in dismissive disgust. "Vannis Tor," he said, pointing at a young, thin man sitting quietly on his horse, "you are our champion."

Vannis slid out of his saddle, his muscles tensed, his green eyes blazing. Link watched him calmly, chopping the air as he tested his blade.

The leader snapped his fingers, and a dozen more of the warriors leapt from their horses, forming a protective phalanx in front of their 'champion.' He chuckled. "But first..." he began.

His words had barely left his mouth before a blur spread through assembled guards.

"...before this duel even begins..."

The spinning blur was moving too fast, sliding in and out of the squadron.

"...you will have to contend with..."

The whispered sigh of a drawn blade thrusting here and there hung in the air. An occasional surprised yelp followed.

"...my elite guard." The commander's mind finally caught up to what his eyes were telling him. His smirk evaporated as, standing directly before him and Vannis, stood Link, a trail of disarmed and wounded Marauders in his wake. Shock blossomed on the tattooed man's face. "How in the name of..."

Vannis held up a hand. "Hold," he said. "Let me handle this." Sliding his sword out of its sheath, the Marauder champion took a defensive stance. "I have never been bested in a duel, whether it was face-to-face or in a pitched battle. My name is feared all throughout the land."

Link cocked an eyebrow. "Strange," he said. "Pardon...your name was _what, _again?" He almost chuckled as his opponent blanched. "I'm afraid I haven't heard of you. Unless your true name is 'Foppish Bore.'"

The Marauder stared at the Hylian. "You're just a young boy."

"And you're just a fool," Link countered.

"You're not worthy of my attentions."

"Nor you mine. But we make the best of what the One, Unseen deals to us, don't you think?"

Refusing to be goaded, Vannis held back still. "Why are you amongst the Lost? You're too..._pretty_."

"It seems you're jealous that they didn't wish to take you instead," Link replied. "Don't worry. After I finish with you, you'll fit in perfectly." He paused, gripping the hilt tightly, and peered at his opponent's face. "Now that I see you, though, I think you'll fit in just as well as you are now."

That was enough. Vannis swung his sword in a neat arc at Link's chest. He dodged easily, then spun and sliced in his own attack. The Marauder ducked, thrusting his blade forward, forcing Link to sidestep away. They encircled each other, sweat making their hair stick to their foreheads.

_"_It seems," Vannis said, panting, "that you're quite the skilled swordsman."

Link offered no response, the fingers of his sword-hand tensing in preparation for another attack. It came swiftly. With a yell, the Marauder brought his blade up, around, and screaming down towards Link. The Hylian threw his weapon-arm upwards, and this time steel crashed against steel. There was no pause. Disengaging, Vannis twirled on his heel, bringing his sword around for an attack on Link's flank. Again steel scraped into steel, begetting spinning sparks as the Hylian blocked. Another thrust, another clang signifying another deflection. Over and over Vannis Tor tried, swinging here and thrusting there, looking for an opening, and again and again Link parried, pushing the other man's weapon away nimbly with one liquid smooth movement after another.

They separated again, staring at one another as they feinted this way and that. Link was aware of the eyes of the other Marauders burning into them. He knew, too, that now that the duel had begun the others would not dare to interfere. But there was something else. Something emanating from Vannis' heart that was beginning to trouble the young Hylian.

If only he had time to focus. The Maurader darted forward, cutting the air with another strike. Link dodged, then planted both his feet firmly into the earth. Not stopping to pause even for breath, he began to spin, his sword outstretched, twisting himself into a silvery, shimmering whirlpool.

Vannis tried to attack, desperately throwing one attack after another, but each time he was repulsed, the air flashing crimson every time sword struck sword. Link reached out with his heart, closing his mind so that he wouldn't be dizzied by his momentum. He connected with Vannis' soul and images tore across the Hylian's inner eye - Vannis saving a child from a beating, rescuing a drowning man in distress, offering up his wealth to alleviate the suffering of the hungry. Above all, Link detected the pure light in the man's heart - the pulsing sense of honour that was thicker than blood.

The young Hylian stopped instantly, coming to a sudden halt that almost distracted his opponent. Almost. Link could sense the false feeling of triumph in Vannis heart as their swords crossed again. This time, the former assassin held his ground, and pushed his face in closer. "Why are you doing this?" he demanded. "Why waste your life for these people?"

Confusion flickered across the Marauder's face. "What do you mean?" he spat.

"You're a good man," Link countered, digging his heels in as Vannis tried to press forward. "You don't need to fight their battles for them."

Tor's fingers, blistered red, trembled as he grasped for an advantage. "Why do you fight for the Lost? You don't even belong to them."

"Because," Link replied. He could feel his muscles start to strain against the pressure now. "They have a right to life. A right to this land."

"And likewise," Vannis said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "My people have a right to their life." He struggled a moment more. "I do it for them. I do it to protect my people. I do what's right."

A sudden sense of certainty, solid as a mountain in its intensity, took root in Link's heart. With no hint of warning, he dropped to his knees, and flung his sword away. Vannis almost yelled in shock, and barely managed to stop himself from stumbling from the sudden momentum. He stepped back and wiped his brow. "What trickery is this?"

"No trickery," Link replied. His heart was thudding in his chest. He _prayed_ that he was doing the right thing. "You win. Strike me down."

A savage roar of approval reverberated around the watching crowd. "Kill him!" they cried. "Finish him now!"

Vannis looked at them with mild disgust, before letting his eyes settle on Link once more. His jaw trembled, and his eyes were hard. "I wish to defeat you in battle," he said quietly. "Not like this. Not while you're defenceless." His eye twitched. "Why are you doing this?"

Link looked up at the Marauder. "I do it for my people."

They held each others gazes for what seemed like an eternity, their eyes locked as the crowd bayed for blood.

"I ask you again," Vannis warned. "Pick up your blade and fight."

Link set his shoulders firmly. "No," he replied, keeping his expression steely. "I won't harm someone such as you."

"You do not know me. I could be as corrupt and vile as the next man.

"If that's true," Link said "then do as you wish."

Something shifted in Vannis face. His hand trembled once, then again, then finally he sent his sword clattering to the ground. "I forfeit this duel," he said, not looking away from the Hylian. "You are the victor."

Rage erupted from the tattooed leader of the Marauders. "What are you doing?" he bellowed. "You cannot let him win! We will not be shamed like this!"

Vannis speared him with an icy glare. "I have decided to forfeit," he said, menace in his voice. "Or do you think you can best me in a duel and convince me otherwise?"

The tattooed Marauder shook with anger, but managed to have enough sense to keep his mouth closed. "Come," he growled to the others, gesturing. "We're leaving."

As they turned to leave, Vannis caught Link with one last look. A faint smile ghosted across the man's face, and Link acknowledged the deed with a short bow of his head. The mist swallowed the invaders one more time, and Link let out a deep breath, closing his eyes as he was enveloped by the heartfelt cheer that had just burst from the Lost.

...

That evening the Lost held a feast in Link's honour. The festivities continued deep into the night, the roaring laughter and frantic singing floating into the night sky. And yet, despite it all, Link had an uneasy sense of disquiet chewing at his heart. Nothing he did could remove it, no matter how much he pretended to smile, or how much he mimicked a laugh.

The feeling intensified into something a lot darker when the Chief, in a fit of tearful emotion, stood up in front of the assembled throng and declared Link to be a Hero. "Aye!" he screamed. "He defeated Vannis Tor himself! Made the mighty Marauders turn back with their tails dangling between their legs! Let the word spread! We, of the Lost, have in our midst, Link, the Boneyard Warrior; Link, the Hero!"

He tried to take it in his stride, but found the attention uncomfortable. No longer did they view him with eyes filled with affection. No, now they shied away, as though awestruck. Young girls, so deformed that they would be ridiculed anywhere else in the world, would approach him in bashful packs, stumbling through their questions and blushing furiously whenever he replied. Link hated it. He hated the adulation. For one, he knew for certain that it wasn't good for the ego - it would lead to pride, and pride would sever him from the One, Unseen. Losing that, he realised with a start, would be worse than losing his sister and Zelda.

Excusing himself from the feast, Link made his way outside. Sinking to the ground beside a large tree, he closed his eyes, basking in the cool, night air.

"Hard, isn't it?"

Link sighed, not bothering to open his eyelids. He'd sensed the Teacher approaching long before the words left his mentor's lips. "Something's wrong," the Hylian replied. "I don't feel..._whole_ anymore." A sullen thought hooked into his heart. "I think the One is displeased with me."

There was a pause, and Link felt a gust of wind scatter twigs and stones into his face. He winced.

"It's not as simple as that," the Teacher replied. Link frowned. Was that sadness in his voice? "The One is not a tyrant. Little mistakes are not punished."

This time the former assassin did open his eyes, looking up to see the Teacher framed by cold starlight. "Then what?"

There was pain in his mentor's eyes, though Link couldn't tell from where it came from. He ached to find out what was bothering the Teacher, just so he could move heaven and earth to remove it.

"Link," the Teacher said. "How long have you been here?"

Frowning again, the former assassin found that he couldn't quite find the answer. What did it matter anyway? "I don't know," he said dismissively. "Five summers? Maybe six?"

The Teacher smiled, though there was no joy behind the gesture. "Nowhere near that long, my young friend."

He knelt down beside the young man. "But I know that's how it feels." He sighed deeply. "It's my fault, I suppose. The One stretches time and He dilates time. It was the only way, though..."

Link could make no sense of the words. All he knew that the way the Teacher was behaving was filling him with a sense of foreboding dread.

"Link," his mentor said again. "The reason you feel unhappy is because you've worn out your welcome here."

"No," the Hylian protested instantly. "I don't wish to go. Don't make me-"

"Ssshh..." The Teacher held up a finger. "Zelda. Remember Zelda."

Something ignited in Link's heart, a jolt like the snapping of a chain. His eyes grew wide. "Zelda..." he breathed. Other memories rushed back like a torrent of unexpected rain. He knew he'd been thinking _of _them regularly, but also knew that he'd rarely been thinking _about_ them. "Mystral!"

The Teacher nodded sagely. Looking at his young charge with melancholy eyes, he began to speak once more, his voice thick. "Zelda needs you, Link. It's time."

"Time?"

"Time for you to leave."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Zelda couldn't quite place where she was. She knew, with dark certainty, that she was in a slave camp, but where actually _that_ was, she wasn't quite sure. Not that it mattered. She would have been lost no matter where she was, her knowledge of the land not extending beyond New Hyrule Town.

The camp was just as cramped as the cage, and twice as stifling. People lined the floor like carcasses, stretched out, huddled, or just staring blankly into space. Moans and pleas floated up to her, making her head spin. Who was she to tend to first? Zelda tiptoed over them, carrying in one hand a dented tin bowl, water sloshing over the rim, and in the other a tattered rag, stained with grime. She had volunteered herself as a water carrier, just so that she could have something to do, and to stop the murky thoughts that were festering in her heart.

Once more, she was a prisoner. She wondered if any of those other 'Zelda's' the Deku Tree had spoken of had ever been imprisoned. Probably not, she decided. She was by far the worst of them all. After all, she was the one that had been marked for death. Still, she had one small comfort to cling to. Unlike the men, all the women, though she didn't know why, had no chains to restrict their movements.

A hand reached out from the shadows, tugging at her tunic. Kneeling down, Zelda came face to face with a plump, old woman, her face warty, her grey hair straggly. "Water," she gasped. "Have mercy."

Zelda felt her mouth tug downwards as pity rose in her heart. She could offer water, but mercy? That was beyond her. The young Harkinian brought the bowl up to the woman's lips, marvelling at how hungrily she gulped down the water. Dipping the rag into the liquid, Zelda passed it over the slavewoman's brow, then pressed her hand against the older woman's cheek. She responded in kind, reaching her own hand up to curl around Zelda's. "Bless you, daughter," she breathed.

Zelda gave her a quick, sad smile, then stood, searching her surroundings. Lighting was dim here, with only a few lanterns lining the walls, and there were no windows. The heat made the atmosphere fetid and that, coupled with the mass of unwashed bodies, meant that a thick stench stuck to every single breath of air that she took.

Still she couldn't find the person that she sought. Where was that accursed woman? Where was Malon?

A shuffle of movement directed Zelda's gaze to the bolted iron door that sealed them all in. Laughter floated in from outside, and she knew that the guards were preparing to drag from them another victim. They always picked the youngest and, though there was little chance to be picky, the prettiest. So far, she'd been lucky. Every time they'd entered, she'd managed to hide herself away, curling into a corner under a filth encrusted blanket. Her heart went out to the victims, though, and guilt bubbled in her heart as she heard their screams.

Pinpricks of rage burned from behind Zelda's eyes. Her hands, still holding the bowl and rag, clenched and unclenched. If only she could find some weapon to strike out against her captors. She would snap their necks one by one. Then she'd stand over them and laugh.

"What's so funny, missy?"

Zelda blinked as Malon approached. Had her feelings been so obviously painted on her face?

The banditwoman continued to watch her, puzzled. "Are you thinking about your fairy boy?"

Zelda frowned. "Fairy boy?"

"Yes." Malon sniffed, turning away slightly as though she were not interested. "The boy Hikirem caught you with. You wish he were here, don't you?"

The young Harkinian's mind drifted to the guards once more. "I do," she replied sourly. "But not for the reasons you think." She recalled Link's image in her eyes once more, the cold set to his jaw, the easy familiarity with which he handled his crossbow. She remembered what he'd said; remembered that he cared not for the fate of the world, remembered how he believed that some people deserved to die. A bitter stain irritated her heart. He'd been right all along. "If he...if _Link _were here, we'd be able to escape. We'd make those guards suffer."

Malon took a step back, as though repulsed by the intensity in Zelda's voice. She regained her composure in a flash. "Oh yes, Link," she said, still pretending that the subject held no interest for her. "He told me his name during my little...visit to him." She glanced at the Hylian, hoping to see some sort of reaction. Zelda ignored her. "I'm sure we would escape, missy," she continued, changing track. "After all, he made quite a mess with Hikirem's camp, didn't he?" She sighed theatrically. "And then afterwards...in the warm...'afterglow' of victory, shall we say...the two of you could..."

"What do you know about the man who bought us?" Zelda snapped, quickly cutting her off. That this banditwoman could be so immodest was still shocking to her. Besides, she didn't think of Link like that. She just hoped that she hadn't blushed in response to Malon's words.

"'Bought us'," the banditwoman laughed, bringing Zelda out of her thoughts. "Nice, missy, nice."

"Well, it's the truth."

Anger flashed across Malon's face. "Yes, but you don't have to remind us."

Once again, Zelda found herself matching the other woman's temper. "Look around!" she snapped. "There's nothing _but _reminders!"

The Harkinian was vaguely aware of the silence that had now pooled around the two of them, all eyes turned in their direction. She didn't care. She felt her cheek twitch as she tried to burn through the banditwoman with her stare. Petty though it was, she wasn't going to turn away here. A small victory was what she wanted; no, _needed, _as she wasn't going to forget who it was that was responsible for her current predicament. Malon would wilt. She would. She had to.

She did. The banditwoman turned on her heel, her mouth set in a grim line. "I'm not used to this, missy," she said quietly.

And yet again, Zelda found herself pitying her. "I am," she replied, her voice soft. "Not exactly like this," she continued as Malon looked up at her with a questioning look. "But I'm used to being cooped up. I'm used to losing my freedom."

Hope sprang in the banditwoman's eyes. "Then you must know how to escape," she breathed, forgetting Zelda's earlier query. "You're a resourceful young missy. You even managed to escape from Old Masher's."

"Not for long," Zelda reminded her in a dry voice. She looked around, seeing no means to flee except the door. "I don't know how to get out of _this_ place."

Her mind raced. Defiance grew in her soul, the steel that had kept her going through all these summers. She'd never once backed down in her life. It would do no good for her to do so now. It was just as well-

-_well, well, well. What have we here? Poor little Princess can't break free. Try being imprisoned for over five hundred summers, you worthless wench. Were it not for the fact that I need you alive, I'd be more than happy to leave you to these wolves. I'd laugh, too, as they tear into your oh-so-innocent flesh. But, no. You live this time. So here's -_

"- how we're going to escape." Zelda blinked, stunned. Had she just said that? Her head spun and Malon, her face curiously creased with worry, reached out to steady her.

"Missy! What's wrong?"

Zelda tried to reply, tried to open her mouth and force her tongue to form the words, but all it did was make her retch. The tin bowl slipped from her fingers and, in a moment of fluid agility, the banditwoman caught it, then eased Zelda down to the floor. Gingerly she brought the remaining water to the Hylian's mouth, and Zelda accepted it gratefully, finding her lips suddenly parched.

"Escape, missy?" Malon asked, her voice low, glancing left and right to make sure no one was listening. "What do you mean?"

Zelda shook her head frantically, her mind still whirling painfully. Images were forming, though; thoughts, ideas, _plans_. Where were they coming from?

The sudden snap of the bolt sliding open made all eyes turn to the door. Like a mouth opening and closing, a gap appeared, a new slave was pushed in, then the gap sealed. The newcomer spun around. "You'll be sorry," he screamed. "He's coming. He's coming to save us all."

Malon gave a short, harsh laugh. "Religious Deku nut," she barked under her breath.

Zelda watched as the slave now turned to face the rest of them. Something shone in his eyes, a sharp contrast to the dull sheen of defeat that everyone else carried. He stood, his back straight, his chains tinkling. "He's coming."

"Who is?" someone shouted in scorn. "Your Papa? You think you're Papa's going to pull you out of this mess, boy?"

The newcomer showed no sign that he'd been offended. "The Hero is coming." Zelda's heart skipped a beat. "He's here at last."

Pushing Malon away gently, the Harkinian pulled herself to her feet, and made her way forward. "What do you mean? _Who_ do you mean?" The last time she'd heard the term 'Hero' was when the Great Deku Tree had spoken to her and Link. She'd also had a vague memory of her family using it in hushed, secretive conversations.

The new slave turned to her, his face showing relief now that he had an audience. "A Hero. He saved the Lost from destruction."

"Pity," Malon mumbled, then stopped herself as the slave glared at her.

"He made Vannis Tor lay down his blade and flee." Awe flooded his voice now, and it dropped to a respectful hush. "No one has done that before."

Zelda didn't recognise the name, but she noticed Malon's eyes stretch in surprise. Good. His claims did have some basis in reality then. "But who is he...?" she insisted. Could it be possible that...?

"A Boneyard Warrior."

Zelda almost gasped. "That's not possible." Her hopes crumbled as his words hit heart like an arrow. This was nothing but the ravings of a poor soul unable to come to terms with his new role in life. Still. She couldn't help but feel curious. "Tell me all about him."

"Yes, tell us, mister," Malon piped in enthusiastically. "Is he handsome?"

"Quiet!" the Hylian hissed.

The banditwoman scowled in return, but said no more.

"What's make you say he'll rescue us all?" Zelda queried. "He's just one man."

The slave's eyes widened, as though incredulous that she would even ask. "That's what I heard from my forefathers. They read it in the ancient scrolls."

"You're familiar with those? What else do they say?"

Hanging his head as though he were ashamed, the slave said, "Beg pardon, miss. But that's all I know."

"Get him cleaned up!" another voice roared. "So we don't have to listen to his lunacy anymore. And find him a space to settle."

"Preferably one far away from me," came another reply. Laughter followed, and then the newcomer disappeared, whisked away by the others.

Disappointment now a mask on her face, Zelda turned away, chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought. "I was a fool, Malon," she said, her voice mournful. "No one's going to help us. No one's going to rescue us." At last, the plan that had been simmering in her mind solidified and took shape. "We're going to have to do this on our own."

...

Link stood at the edge of the Valley, cloaked and hooded, staring out at the reminders of his success over the Marauders; his first, true victory as a Boneyard Warrior which had led to this painful parting. Here, away from any settlements, the swirling mass of cloud began to dissipate; sunlight daring to peek out from the darkness, confident in its rightful claim to the sky. Here the leaves of the trees were a rich green once more, the branches thick with ripe fruit. In the distance he could see the Village of the Lost, now a dwindling dot in his vision. He closed his eyes as the grief welled up, threatening to overwhelm him.

Let your heart grow cold.

His eyes snapped open. No. He'd left that behind, scorched it from his heart, purified like iron in a forge. No. He let his pain wash over him, savouring in it, letting it be a reminder of what had passed. Deflecting his ego's need to wallow in its misfortune, he searched through the feelings, trying to capture the goodness in it.

He found it, encapsulated in one, solitary word that he now clung to, wrapping his mind around it. _Gratitude._

A stray memory danced into his heart. He recalled how once, in the cold dead of night, the Teacher had roused him from his sleep. Link had followed, cursing in his heart, his eyes sticky and heavy. His mentor guided him to a small hut, its windows glowing from the light inside. Insistent wails rang out from within.

"What's happening?" Link had asked.

The Teacher grinned in response. "Valeta has just given birth to a son."

The young assassin had shrugged, unimpressed. "That's nice for her. I'll congratulate her in the morning." Secretly, he'd planned to avoid the whole situation altogether. He was, at that moment in time, trying to envision a plan by which he could..._borrow_...the Teacher's ancient texts. There must be some way for him to purify his heart without having to go through all this bother.

His mentor wrapped a bony hand around Link's wrist. "You're needed," he said, motioning to the door.

Knowing, from experience, that if he refused he'd either be given a more difficult task or a heavy rebuke, Link dragged himself to the hut. He also knew that he could just walk out and leave, but whatever else Link was, he was neither disloyal nor a coward. He was going to see this through to the end. There was something else, though, that he needed to do, but he couldn't quite place what it was. He was sure it would come back to him one day.

They entered the hut, and Link basked in the warmth that curled around him. He stepped over the towels, stained crimson with blood, and looked down at the newborn. Instantly he knew that something was wrong. The boy was pale, his breathing too laboured.

"Is he sick?" Link asked.

The mother, surrounded by nursemaids and teary-eyed, nodded. "He has Blood Rot."

"The cure?"

The Teacher stepped forward to interject. "Curiously enough, the only cure is that a _Hylian_ male place a drop of his own blood in the patient's mouth."

Link's eyes narrowed. "_Very _convenient."

There was no hint of surprise or deception on the Teacher's face. He merely shrugged apologetically.

The assassin rolled up his sleeve. This test was easy. "Let's get it over with then."

"Wait," the Teacher said, making Link freeze. "There's a condition."

The young Hylian could feel his heart sink. "Name it."

"The blood has to be charged. It has to be mixed from the purity of the heart."

"What do you mean?"

The Teacher stepped away, gesturing at the child. "You'll understand."

Frowning Link looked down at the babe, then up at his mother. Who were these people to him? They didn't care about him, so why should he care in return. They'd probably wouldn't even be thankful if he helped them. His own squadron hadn't been thankful for all he'd done for them. His fellow Hylians had tried to murder him without even hearing him out. Life, he concluded, was a decidedly thankless experience.

"It's not all about you." The Teacher's voice was so faint that Link had to strain to hear it. "When things go wrong, don't ask 'why,' Just accept, say 'yes', then see how you can deal with it."

Again the young assassin looked down at the baby, hearing his shallow breathing. Who chose, he wondered, between life and death? Would this one grow up to be a hero or a tyrant? What kind of life would he have anyway? Just like his mother and his fellow villagers, he was scarred, disfigured in a way that many would find repulsive.

Seeing the indecision in his eyes, Valeta spoke, her voice shaking. "You don't have to if you don't wish to. I'm sure there's another way."

Link was suddenly aware that his own breathing had now matched the baby's. The noise struck him as strange. Something clicked inside, the last pieces of a puzzle falling neatly into place. Breath. Life. As though it were a revelation, he was acutely conscious of himself has a living being. Not only him, but everyone around him.

Shame burned him. So wrapped up he had been in his own pain, so absorbed in his own ego, that he'd forgotten one key thing. It didn't matter if they thanked him or not. This baby, this new soul that had no evil to its name, had a right to live just as much as he did. He shouldn't do it just to be appreciated, or even to exalt his own fame. He should do it just _because._ Whether he was loved or hated mattered not.

Reaching down, Link pulled his Oath Blade free from his belt. A name buzzed in his mind - _Zelda -_ but he batted it away impatiently. It wasn't time to think about her right now. He pushed the tip against his finger, wincing as it pierced skin. Letting his hand hover over the baby's mouth, he squeezed a drop of scarlet out. He looked up, and catching the anxiety in Valeta's eyes, smiled.

As soon as the blood had reached the baby's tongue, a complete change occurred. The baby's breathing strengthened in front of their eyes, the colour rushing back to his cheeks.

A grin, accentuated by her now sparkling eyes, spread across Valeta's face.

"I believe," the Teacher said wryly. "That he will recover."

Link turned away, satisfied. He knew he'd not be needed anymore. He tried to battle away his disappointment. _Let you heart grow -_

"Where are you going?" Valeta cried.

The young man turned back, confused. "Home...why?"

She laughed and, though it clearly pained her to do so, gently passed her son off to a nursemaid. Quickly rising to her feet, Valeta shook off her fatigue, ran and wrapped Link in a fierce hug. He stumbled in shock.

"You're going nowhere, young man," she said, her voice shaking with genuine emotion. "The whole village will learn of this. And then, we'll remember your name forever." A light dawned on her face. "Not only your name, but my son's, too, for I name him '_Link' _And I pray that he shares in your purity of spirit."

The sheer sincerity in her voice almost made Link choke. He could find no words to express the disorientating feelings that swirled inside. All that he knew was that here, amongst people shunned by the outside world, something in his heart, something heavy like steel, had cracked that night. It hadn't gone, of course, but it had weakened. There was something else, too. Something flickering, at the edge of his consciousness. Not only was he aware of himself, and others around him, as truly living beings, but, for the first real time in his life, he had a faint sense of something..._beyond._

Link smiled as the memory faded. It had seemed like an age ago now. He knew that they'd spread the tale around to the neighbouring villages. Many of Link's exploits were passing from mouth to mouth now, including his latest, the 'taming' of Vannis Tor. He squinted, noticing a dark shape approach, framed against the remains of the village's defensive wall, now tanned black by the fire trick that he'd used in the battle against the Marauders.

It was the Teacher, though he'd sensed that as soon as his eyes had fell upon him.

"Are you ready?" his mentor asked with a smile.

"You're not coming with me?" Link asked. He knew the answer, but he had to hear it.

"No." The Teacher shook his head. "You don't need me anymore, Link."

The former assassin pursed his lips, not wanting his tongue to form what his heart felt inside. "Thank you," he said instead. "For everything."

The Teacher bowed his head respectfully, then looked up, puzzled. "There's something else...?"

Link took in a deep breath, trying to push steel into his nerves. His mentor had already sensed what he'd wanted, but Link had to try anyway. "There has to be another way to end the Cycle." The words spilled out like a torrent. "Another way apart from having to kill Zelda."

"There is none. I've studied the books, the scroll and all the prophecies. I even discussed it with the Tree himself."

The young Hylian raised an eyebrow. So. Both the Teacher and the Great Deku Tree had been in communication with each other.

"Don't look at me like that." the Teacher said. "We've been waiting for you for a long time, Link. We had to make sure that everything went ahead as planned."

Link's gaze dropped to the ground, humbled. He tried to still his heart from the awe he felt. He was just a speck of dust in a world teeming with life. He wasn't anything special. "The Cycle?"

"Can only be broken one way, I'm afraid," the Teacher replied. "Once it's broken, our world will live again, and the evil will that feeds it will vanish." He held his pupil with a steady gaze. "Think of that, Link. Think of that. More rests on this than you can imagine. It's not only connected to future generations, it's connected to here and now - He that wishes to live again is truly a master puppeteer, engineering things from afar, not only with you and Zelda, but elsewhere, too. When the Cycle breaks, _all_ his machinations go with him."

"Elsewhere?" Link asked. He tried to _push_, tried to peer into his master's heart, but was unable to, the Teacher being far too strong and skilled. He caught a faint glimmer of a thought - something that was related to New Hyrule Town. It vanished as quickly as it appeared and Link was left bewildered. Seeing that the Teacher was not going to offer any explanation, he changed track. "You still haven't told me who 'He' exactly is."

"It's better that you don't know," his mentor replied. "There's no benefit in you knowing his name or more about his past. Erase him from your mind, so that you can erase him from the world. Remember what I said...?"

"Only gain knowledge that will serve you and those around you," Link quoted. "Idle curiosity about things best left hidden is a waste of your time."

The Teacher nodded, pleased. "That's my boy."

A faint smile touched Link's lips "I'll be on my own again."

"You won't," the Teacher said. "As we know..."

Link smile grew wide, and he turned to the thick undergrowth nestling at the base of a nearby tree. "You can come out of there now, Harlequin."

The bandit, his face flushed, popped his head up from the grass, eyes glazed with a guilty look. "Sorry, misters, sorry. You knew I was here?"

Laughing, Link said, "We both did."

"Harlequin Jack," the Teacher said, his voice solemn. "I charge you with the task of being Link's travelling companion." The bandit wilted under the Warrior's stern gaze. "Do you accept?"

Jack rushed out, almost colliding into Link. "Yes, yes, mister," he cried. "Surely, I do."

The young Hylian couldn't hide the delight from his face. He turned back to his mentor, sighed, then embraced him one final time. "How will I find her?"

"You will," the Teacher said cryptically. His voice then took on an edge of warning. "Promise you'll go through with this, Link. Promise you won't forget."

His fingers tapping against the hilt of his Oath Blade, the former assassin paused, his jaw trembling. "Of course," he said. It felt as though he had lead in his mouth. "You can trust me."

The Teacher held his gaze for a heartbeat more, then clasped his hand on Link's shoulder. "Then go," he whispered. "We may yet meet again one day."

Link turned away, Harlequin Jack following behind him, and took to the trail that led out of the Valley. He didn't want to see anymore, not the Teacher, nor the Village of the Lost. All that concerned him now was the thought of finding Zelda. That, and the fact that he wondered, with guilt dropping onto his heart, if the Teacher had sensed exactly how much he had just lied.

...

A hush fell on the gathered slaves as the door to their prison opened. Regular as clockwork, the trio of guards entered, noses wrinkled from the smell, but eyes brimming with greed as they searched the assembled throng for another one of their 'desserts.' This time, however, they wouldn't have to wait long.

Zelda stepped forward, her eyes pleading. "Please, sirs," she whimpered, head bowed, and feet shuffling. "Pick me, sirs. I'd like to...be chosen." She looked up, gazing straight into their eyes. "Just for you."

The guards, their jaws dropping open, looked at her with a mixture of desire and apprehension. _Pathetic, _Zelda thought. She could almost see the drool hanging from their chins. Why did men think that most women were begging to throw themselves at their feet?

Before the guards could even respond, the main attraction of their little piece of theatre entered. Malon, her hips swaying, her eyes wide with hunger, stepped up beside Zelda. "Me, too misters," she cooed. "You just can't imagine how _dull _it is here." She shuffled forward, her lips opening slowly. "And I'm sure you men know how to lift _that_ from me."

Zelda winced inwardly. She hoped the banditwoman wasn't being too forceful. Deception was the key here, no matter much it disgusted her and went against her sensibilities.

One of the men licked his lips. "I'm sure..." he cleared his throat, "I'm sure we could arrange something for you lovely ladies."

Another one stared at Zelda. She stared back, uncomfortable with the attention. "Looky, this one's a Hylian," he said. The lust in his voice sickened her. "I heard they can do..._things..._with their ears." Zelda almost gagged.

The last one kept his gaze on Malon. "I like this one best," he said. "She has some spirit to her."

The banditwoman gave a suitably coy reaction, looking away shyly as a rose tint blossomed on her cheeks. Zelda had to admit that Malon was a lot better at this than her. The young Harkinian had other things on her mind though. She watched the men carefully, waiting, waiting for that tell tale sign for her to act.

"I don't know what you mean, mister," Malon said. "I'm just a lonely girl, who's wanting some excitement. You can understand that, right?"

There.

The mens' shoulders sagged ever so slightly, their eyes fixed on Malon, and Zelda knew that they'd let their guard down. Her first kick threw one guard out through the door, her second cracked into another jaw. Galen, the slave that had just joined them that morning, pounced from the shadows wrapping his chains around the remaining guard's neck.

Zelda walked up to him, watching his eyes bulge as he gurgled. She knew that he was beaten, that there was no more left to be done. Still ,she felt no satisfaction, her hatred churning like a storm. Who was this disgusting worm who dared to inflict suffering on her? He was no one. _She_ was the Harkinian Princess. _She _deserved better. _She_ deserved her life.

A feral growl rumbled in Zelda's throat. She lashed out, a kick straight into the man's chest. A wet snap rang out. It wasn't enough. She swung around, delivering another kick to his face. The man sagged. Teeth clenched and chest heaving, she stepped forward, leapt, then drove her boot into his jaw, sending blood flying. Now she felt content, and punctuated her action by spitting into the remains of his face.

Galen and the banditwoman looked at her, stunned, their faces pale. "Was that..." the slave said. "Was that really necessary?"

Zelda threw him a glance, then turned to address the other slaves. "We're leaving."

The slaves poured out into the corridors, Zelda, Malon and Galen at their head. Having paused to pull free a dagger from one of the fallen guards, the young Hylian ran ahead, her heart bubbling with glee. She felt alive, like the day she and the Harkinians had assaulted Castle Dragmire. Her familiar laugh escaped from her lips, free after being dormant for so long.

Her enthusiasm was infectious, the slaves indulging in their primal impulses just like her. They tore at the walls and smashed anything they found that wasn't nailed down, screaming curses and yelling with joy. Freedom was an intoxicating cocktail, making them lose all control of their senses. Zelda herself was the worst culprit.

As they twisted and turned down the myriad passageways they easily overcame any resistance, the remaining guards taken completely by surprise. One tried his best, though, standing his ground against the onslaught, the crackling torches casting a crimson shadow over his face.

Zelda snarled, annoyed at the interruption. She flipped the dagger into her hand, aiming for his shoulder. Then, just as moments before, her rage flooded into her veins once more. Shifting her arm, she found the man's heart and, with a quick spin for momentum, threw the knife. It plunged home, shooting a spray of blood into the air.

Zelda froze, as though stunned by a slap, as she watched the man slide to the ground in a bloody mess. She had no time to think, though, as the slaves caught up to her, pushing her along. _He deserved to die, _she told her frantic mind. An image of Link ghosted into her mind. _Some people _do _deserve it._

At last they reached a thick, wooden door, larger than two men, and clearly the exit. The seething mass, murder in their hearts, swarmed against it, easily trampling the last few guards underfoot. The door bulged, creaking. A snap followed, then a splintering crunch, before the whole thing collapsed.

Zelda found herself in a large field, silver stars winking down upon her. She'd lost Galen and the banditwoman in the rush, but at that moment in time she didn't even care. Free! Her heart surged. She was finally free!

Rushing up to a large boulder, she hopped on top, spreading her arms out wide. She breathed in deeply, letting the cold air stroke her skin, and laughed, long and loud. This was -

- _very good, I must admit. I'm impressed. Perhaps I should find a way to let you live. That would be the ultimate revenge, wouldn't it? After all this time, it would be most fitting if I made you my bride!_

Zelda stumbled, toppling off the top of the rock. She crashed into the grass, her ankle twisting beneath her. She hissed as the sharp pain shot up her leg. But that wasn't the worst thing, no. Zelda sank to the ground, holding her head in her hands, whimpering as the deep laughter continued to roll around her mind.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

They followed the meandering trail as it led out of the Valley of Perpetual Night, a canopy of trees, laden green with fresh leaves, protecting them from the elements above. It was a good thing, too, Link realised as he led Harlequin onwards. During the day, as they moved further and further away from the Village of the Lost, he could feel the very chill evaporate, as though driven back. The sun's light grew stronger, and consequently more hotter, the foliage above acting as a barrier, though as the sun tried to push its way through, it filled their path with an eerie emerald hue.

Once it had rained, the water drumming against the leaves, their oval shadows trembling on the ground. Occasional drops broke through, splashing into the piles of perfumed blossom that lay strewn across the undergrowth. The days they spent travelling or sharing stories. Sometimes Link would set Bannock free from his Glimmer Capsule, the bandit marvelling at the sight of the talking bird. The nights, seething with the sound of chirping insects hidden from their eyes, were when Link had time to himself, time to hone his training and consolidate what he had learned.

As Harlequin slept, curled against the ground beside the ashy remains of a fire, Link sat with his eyes closed, mystical words dripping with power rolling around his mouth, and opened himself to the world around. The teeming flow of life, pulsing like a million hearts beating as one, almost overwhelmed him. Here he sensed a small animal, scurrying from rock to rock, there he felt a bird, perched proudly upon a branch, its eyes watchful for any threat to its nest.

Link pushed himself onwards, seeing himself and the world as a speck of dust, as he tried to connect with the One, the source of everything he saw around him. It happened, though not without the usual effort, Link straining to rid himself of his sense of self. The contact was fleeting, but like the spark that kindles a fire it ignited something within him, a sense of unified serenity that was like honey to his heart.

Then, as he'd come to expect, his ego rebelled, reminding him of his weaknessess; his callous murder of Jonah, his drive to hunt down the Harkinian on the night of his Test, his hunger for revenge that saw everyone as meat to be sacrificed to the altar of his desires. All his failings rushed back to him, all the sicknesses of his heart magnified a thousandfold. His bond with the One snapped, and Link found himself flung back, rejected, into his own self once more, surrounded by the mundaneness of his life. Sighing, he realised that it would take him forever to rid himself of the dark suggestions of his soul, and because of that his abilities would always be limited.

The Teacher had told him that those promptings were natural, all part of being alive, all part of the One's plan to see if people would shoot to the highest heights or stubbornly cling to becoming to the lowest of the low. Real strength wasn't in physical prowess, real strength was the strength of the spirit. Link had managed to heed that advice. That is, until he had lied to his mentor about killing Zelda.

Then again, hadn't the Teacher himself said that if Link stayed and trained with him, he would find a way to free Zelda from the curse? Why, then, had his mentor been so insistent that he go through with the original plan?

Like the dying embers of a fire long spent, the Boneyard Warrior felt the last breaths of his mystical flight slip way. It was a good thing, he decided, after searching for something positive to comprehend his experience. It least he himself knew, despite how others now called him 'Hero', that neither he, nor the Teacher, were perfect.

As he let sleep gently pull him down, he caught a shadow of movement from the edge of his vision.

...

The next day they found that the path was leading steeply upwards, the trees falling away in number, and patches of grass sprouting from the earth. The trail widened out, the final few trees peeling away to reveal fields and meadows, and Link and Harlequin found themselves climbing up a hill.

Reaching the summit, Link stopped suddenly, inhaling a sharp breath as he viewed the vista that lay ahead of him. Shimmering crystal blue as the sun beat down on it, and tipped with a halo of sparkling haze through which birds were soaring, there lay, at the bottom of the hill, a large lake, its waves lapping the shore lazily.

The young Hylian felt Harlequin climb up beside. "Never seen anything so beautiful, eh mister?" he said, grinning. "That's Lake Hylia. I'm sure you're not used to admiring the wonders of nature, though."

"I wouldn't say that." Link recalled his time by the waterfall with Zelda, and remembered his promise to show her places that would leave her awestruck. His hand fell to the hilt of his Oath Blade as he felt a twinge to his heart.

In the distance, like some jagged, broken tooth, a shattered mountain stood, the top half of it obliterated, its features faint as though it were a painting. "What's that?" Link asked, motioning with his hand.

The bandit followed his gaze. "Hmm? Oh...that...that's Death Mountain Crater."

Link's heart tightened, a sour taste rising into his mouth. That was his destination. That's where the Golden City lay, the black sword that could end the Cycle resting within. He felt certain that whatever was to come would be resolved there. There had to be answer there - a way to free Zelda from her curse. There _had_ to be.

Suddenly giggling maniacally, Harlequin threw himself to the ground and began rolling down the incline. Link followed, his striding a little more restrained. "What are you doing?" he asked softly as they reached the bottom.

Propping his chin up with one hand, Harlequin gazed up at the Hylian, blades of grass stuck to his forehead and cheek. "I'm enjoying the moment, mister," he said. "You're still cold, you know that?"

Link stared out across the lake, seeing the sun's blurry reflection in the water. "What makes you say that?"

"Your scowl for one thing," the bandit replied. "It's like this." Glancing down, Link saw Harlequin twist his face into an almost comical expression.

"I don't do that! the Hylian said, laughing.

Harlequin shrugged. "No," he admitted, "but you do frown a lot. You should try smiling. The maidens will like you better for it, mister. See!" Again the bandit twisted his face, trying to show Link exactly what he meant.

The Boneyard Warrior looked down at his friend with a stern gaze. "Harlequin," he said. "Only a Poe-possessed girl whose had her eyes gouged out by a rogue cucco would find that attractive. In fact, I'd probably have to question whether she really _was_ a girl." The bandit made a face, prompting another laugh from Link. "Now who's scowling?"

Harlequin rolled over onto his back, now smiling as he soaked in the sun's rays. "I told you you had a good heart," he said, satisfaction in his voice. "I could sense it."

"You reached that revelation when I was threatening you with my crossbow, right?" Link felt a whisper of guilt as he recalled the memory, but pushed it away.

"No," Jack said. "Later." A lull let the soothing sounds of the lake wash over them. "I'd bet you were always the type to look out for your friends, eh mister?"

An image of Jonah's face, pain and shock lining it, flashed into Link's mind. "No," he said. "You're wrong."

Guilt returned, its blunt edge weighing down on his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to focus. It was a pointless emotion. No one could change the past, only regret it, set things right if they could, and vow never to make the same mistakes again. Guilt, on the other hand, was a self-destructive wallowing in old wounds. Again he forced it from his mind, choosing instead to tune himself into the hypnotic sighing of the waves rolling onto the shore. The sounds, coupled with the sheer beauty of the lake itself, made his soul sing.

Seeing that Harlequin had closed his eyes, ending the conversation, Link let his thoughts drift. He wanted to focus on Mystral, ached for it in fact, but wouldn't allow himself the indulgence. To think of only his own ties when greater things were in the balance wasn't right. He just prayed that he'd see her again. Instead, he turned his mindt back to Zelda. He let his heart reach out, trying to find her presence. A smile came to him, then, as he remembered how, when first entering the Valley, he had thought it a childish fantasy that he would be able to connect to her in such a fashion. It shouldn't be too hard now, he mused. Zelda had a purer heart than most, and she should be able to shine out like a beacon. All he received, however, was a faint stirring, covered with shadow, that was emanating not too far from here. At least she was close by. His heart surged at that.

Capitalizing on the emotion, he pushed his soul to touch the lake. Instantly he felt that he _was_ the water; inconsistent, flowing freely, and tugged one way and the other in time with the waxing and waning of the moon. It was a dizzying sensation. He tried to control it, tried to fashion it into some sort of shape - a sculpture perhaps, maybe he could form a liquid sword from it, just to see if he could. It didn't work. The water was too chaotic, too much used to its own independence. It felt like he was trying to tame a wild animal. Link relaxed, disengaging from the connection. Clearly he still had a long way to go.

He sat, hanging his head, feeling fatigued from the whole process. Every time he tried to test his limits he found himself expending too much energy, exhausting him. It just told him that his heart wasn't as pure as he thought, and that he couldn't rely on these skills all the time. He still had to fall back on his own muscle and sweat. It could be many summers yet before he reached the same level as the Teacher.

"What will I do," Harlequin said from beside him, "when you do find your girly, mister? Are you going to let me drift away into the abyss?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Link asked. "You said you'd help, then you'd leave."

"But you don't want me to."

The young Hylian considered his words, before speaking slowly. "No, I don't," he admitted. "You've shown me more loyalty than I ever deserved, Jack." His voice dropped a few octaves. "I didn't think loyalty still existed anymore."

Harlequin sat up, stretching. "And you didn't think the Teacher was telling the Truth. Or that, at the beginning, the knowledge he was giving you was worth anything. When will it take you to admit you're wrong?"

Link blinked, surprised at the heat in his friend's words. Is that how he viewed him? "I thought I _had_ admitted it. At least, a few times...and even if my words didn't make it clear, then my actions did." He watched a bird swoop down through the sky, disappear into the haze, then peck the water, gliding back up, a silver fish in its beak. "Harlequin, you don't have to go. You can come and live with me and Mystral and Zelda." He felt his throat tighten from the thick emotions that were coating his words.

The bandit leaned forward, his eyes widening. "Oh no, mister," he gasped. "Oh no, oh no, oh no. That's not what the Teacher said. You think you can save her, don't you? You think you won't have to kill her. Oh, mister, I'm so sorry."

Offering him no reply, Link turned his head slightly to indicate that the conversation was over.

Harlequin gasped, then shot to his feet. "Mister!" Panic made his voice squeak. "There's someone watching us from the top of the hill!"

The Boneyard Warrior neither turned around, nor betrayed any hint of surprise. "I know," he said. "He's been following us for quite a while."

"You know?" Harlequin cried. "Who is he? What does he want?"

"What he wants, I believe, is revenge, primarily by making me suffer, then die. Look closely, Jack," Link replied softly. "Can't you tell who it is?"

There was a pause, then a another gasp. "It's not...it can't..."

"It's Hikirem," Link said, finally pulling himself upright. "It's the Bandit King."

...

The Harkinian safehouse stood silently, hidden in the darkest corner of the Kokiri Quarter. Small animals darted past the door, pausing only to scavenge at the rotted remains of long diseased meat, thrown out long ago, and now wearing a cloak of frost and mould.

Then, without even a hint of a warning, the whole building erupted in a ball of fire, its flames licking the sky; people and animals alike shrieking with fear.

On a nearby rooftop, crouching so that they would not be noticed, Montero, Fran, Mystral and Impa watched.

"We waited too long," the King spat. "I knew it was a mistake to let those fools out. Look what they've brought us."

Mystral turned her attention to him. "How did they find us? Where's Anju, Kafei and Hobert?"

Rolling his eyes, Montero hissed. "They're _dead_, woman." He would have taken satisfaction in the way the Hylian woman raised her hand to her mouth in shock had not Impa pierced him with a glare. Why didn't anyone tell him that being a monarch was so difficult? He took the thought back -someone _had_ told him. And that person was now dead, his heart brutally torn out. No matter what he felt about his father, he knew that no one deserved to die like that.

He softened his expression as he turned back to Mystral. "It's my fault. I should have been more strict on who I let out of the safehouse."

The others looked at him, wearing expressions of mild surprise. Montero turned away, not wanting to give them too much to gloat about. An admission of failure was enough for them - they didn't need to see him look ashamed, too.

It burned him that his reign had been such a dismal failure. He'd scorned his father's methods, hated how he pandered to the whims of the people. Now, it seemed clear to Montero that _that _should have been his own pattern to adopt. Not for the sake of the people, of course, but to secure his own power. He had the whole of Greater Calatia; why had he become so seduced with the idea of possessing the Triforce? And worse, why had he listened to the usurper, Servion, as his whispers added fuel to that desire? Montero grimaced - what a complete _fool_ he had been.

It was then, surprising even his own self, that the King felt a stirring in his heart, a longing to fill a part of himself that he had suddenly found empty. Montero realised, almost with a jolt, that he was missing his father.

"So," Fran said, drawing the King's attention back to their situation. "What now?" His eyes found Montero. "We've been waiting for your grand armies for days now. They haven't come, laddie, and it looks to me that they've deserted us."

The King ignored the informal address in Fran's words. Despite their constant bickering, Montero had come to respect the Hylian hunter. The man had a cool head, a patient heart and the wisdom born from many summers of experience. "Perhaps Servion has something to do with it," he offered.

A wry smile crossed the Hylian's face. "Oh, I'm sure he does. The question is - what do we do about it?"

"We still have these," Montero said, nodding down at the sack that bulged with their packages of explosive powder. "We can still annoy them, even if we can't hurt them."

Impa shook her head. "We'd be killed just attempting it." She slapped her leg in frustration. "I hate this. I hate this hiding and running. I want to _hit_ something."

The King smiled. They still had the fight left in them. That, at least, was a crumb of comfort.

"Do you think..." Mystral said, her words slow as she thought them through. "Do you think that...if what they say about Link being the 'Hero' is true...that he'll come for us?"

Montero snorted, holding his palms out. "Look at my city! It's overrun and my people are living in fear. One boy isn't going to change that."

Fran looked at him. "_Your_ people?"

"Yes," the King replied, his eyes thinning to slits as he dared the Hylian to contradict him. "_My_ people." He glanced down at the others. "All of them. No matter how much Servion has either oppressed them or deluded them."

"I'm glad to hear that," the hunter replied.

The King realised that he had meant his words, too. He would find a way to salvage his reign, find a way to accomplish something that even his father couldn't. He would try, as soon as he had deposed of Servion, he would try to unite all the races of Greater Calatia under one banner. It would, he knew, be a nigh on impossible task, especially after all that had transpired, but it was all he had left to make his mark on history. A treacherous thought trickled into his heart, whispering that it would be a lot easier had he possessed the Triforce. Angrily, the Gerudo pushed it down deep into his soul, not letting his mind pay it any attention.

As he dwelled on his plans, Montero wondered exactly when his change of heart had occurred? Had his time cooped up in the safehouse with all these Hylians affected him that much?

"Fran?" Mystral asked, her hair falling across her face. None of them, Montero realised, had had the chance to really take care of themselves. He wondered how he himself looked. After all, he was still the King - it wouldn't do for him to look like a commoner.

"Aye, lassie," the Hylian replied, gazing thoughtfully out across the city. "I don't know if Link will come for us. I don't know what fate has planned for him. Usually, he has his own...situation to deal with."

The King frowned. Newfound respect he may have, but the hunter had an irritating habit of speaking in cryptic tongues. "Usually? What do you mean, man? This has never happened before."

"Not to you, maybe," Fran replied, his voice soft. "Not to this 'Link' either."

Before Montero could indignantly demand an explanation, Impa shot up, pointing. "Look!"

They all squinted, following her gaze. At first, the King could see nothing, and was about to say so, when his eyes caught a dark mass outside the city's gates. It was active, whatever it was, mismatched shapes, some large, others small, all moving at a different pace. Torches flickered, casting light onto the newcomers.

His soul shooting with joy, Montero sprang to his feet, a grin quickly spreading across his face. "I knew it!" he cried, his voice almost shaking with emotion. "I knew they'd come!" He clicked his fingers at Impa. "Come, let's greet them. We should be able to easily get to them before-"

"They're not Calatians." It was Fran's voice that had cut him off.

"What?" the King demanded.

"They're not Calatians," the Hylian repeated. Shading his eyes from the sun, Fran peered ahead, his face creased as he concentrated. Suddenly, he relaxed, relief flooding into his features.

"What is it?" Montero asked cautiously.

"They're Zora!" Fran cried. "And they have Princess Zelda with them!"

...

Link stood, his arms folded across his chest, as Hikirem came swaggering down the hill, his cloak tattered, his face scarred. Yet another stand-off. The Boneyard Warrior knew, from what the Teacher had told him, that the One, Unseen would bring evil to him like moth to a flame, just to test how he would react. Each and every situation was an opportunity to push himself to a higher state.

Harlequin, visibly shaking, whimpered beside him. "Mister, don't let him get me, mister...I know how he's like when he's angry. He _hurts_, mister...he _hurts._"

'Angry' was certainly an apt description. To Link's newfound senses, the man approaching him was a dark whirlpool of rage, drained completely of all mercy. He turned to his friend. "Don't worry. Stay calm."

The bandit nodded, though his teeth were chattering.

Hikirem Rusthammer came to a stop an arm's length away from Link. Veins bulged in his face, his eyes bloodshot and wide. This, Link mused, was what happened when people gave in to their worst natures. An idle thought came to him - was this the image that he'd presented to Fran the morning after Servion had betrayed him? Remembering how the old man had reacted, Link's respect for him grew.

A metallic sigh rang through the air as the Bandit King drew his sword. "You made me lose everything," he said simply. "So, I want you to repay that with your accursed life."

Link remained motionless, not even wanting to bring his own weapons to bear. "You brought it upon yourself," he said, his voice soft. "The One, Unseen gave you a taste of what your own hands had earned."

Hikirem snarled, and spat. "I don't want to hear your sermons, boy. I want your head to roll." His eyes flicked over to Harlequin. "You! Why are you with this wretch? Have you betrayed me?"

The bandit stepped forward, almost out of instinct. "No, no...of course not, sir. I'd never do that, sir."

Link pushed down the wave of disappointment that had just then threatened to burst free. He couldn't really blame Harlequin. It wasn't his fault. Besides, expecting people to be loyal to him was just as selfish as any other lust.

"Good," Hikirem continued. "Then pull my dagger from my belt and drive it through the boy's neck." His gaze returned to Link. "Where's that girl of yours? She'll be the surplus on the loan you owe me. More than the little welps I tasted on the way here." He leaned forward, licking his lips. "They were sweet, I tell you." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Especially their screams. The kind of things your girl has been dreaming about ever since she met me, I'd wager."

The young Hylian didn't waste his breath with any sort of reply. The words were measured, hoping to provoke him. He let them drop from his heart. Whatever crimes the Bandit King had committed he would pay for - but out of justice, not revenge.

"By my ancestors," Hikirem swore, more to himself than to the others. "I know why this is happening. I must have offended one of those fortune tellers back at the camp, and so she placed a bad luck curse on me." He shook his head."I knew I shouldn't have taken her daughter for entertainment."

Eyes narrowing, Link let the man's words sink in. Though the Bandit King didn't believe in the One, he did have some notion of the Unseen, and the way people's deeds played upon it. The seed of an idea sprouted in his heart.

"What's the matter, fool?" Hikirem said, directing his venom at Harlequin once more. "I gave you an order. Obey it!"

The bandit took yet another step forward, though his whole body trembled. A film of sweat covered his face, his eyes darting in panic. He reached out for Hikirem's dagger, though his hand was far from stable. Harlequin looked at Link, his eyes full off sorrow, then glanced at the Bandit King, his expression changing to fear. Link said nothing. He knew that it was up to Harlequin himself to make a decision. He wasn't going to interfere.

"Hurry up with it!" the Bandit King bellowed, making Harlequin jump. "Or I'll gut him myself, then cut your limbs from you one by one."

The bandit's fingers curled around the hilt of the Hikirem's dagger. He closed his eyes, whispering.

Link tensed, his gloved hand ready to drop to his sword. Suddenly, Jack stopped. He froze, as though steel had flooded his veins. His mouth setting into a thin line, he stood up straight, backing away. "No," he whispered. "No, mister." He glanced at Link. "This is my friend. I'll never abandon him for you."

Link, try as he might to stop himself, couldn't help but savour in the sweet relief rushing through his heart. The moment barely lasted a heartbeat, though, as Hikirem, a yell fleeing his lips, leapt forward, one arm curling around Harlequin's face, the other bringing the blade to his neck.

"Fine!" he snapped. "Let's try this then. You, boy, take that sword of yours and plunge it through your own heart. I'll let this worm live if you do so."

Link could have pointed out the fallacy in the request, that there'd be no guarantee that the Bandit King would see the deal through, seeing how Link himself would be dead, but decided to keep quiet instead. The man wasn't thinking straight and anything could push him plunging over the edge.

"Don't you wonder," the Warrior asked, "how I managed to burn your camp to the ground all by myself?" It wasn't true, of course, seeing as Kisho and Rivero had played their parts, too, but Hikirem didn't know that.

"It was more of my accursed bad luck," the Bandit King replied. He brought his sword closer to Jack's throat. "No more words, boy. Just actions."

Link's threw Harlequin a knowing glance. "I'm the Spirit of Death, see," he said, his voice soft. "If you anger me, you pay the penalty. That's your bad luck for you."

Saliva flew from Hikirem's mouth as he raged. "What babbling nonsense is this? You're just a boy - _a boy _- you know nothing about the ways of the world."

Inhaling deeply, Link closed his eyes, reaching back with his heart into the lake behind him. Doubt tugged at him. He'd failed trying this before - what made him so sure he'd succeed now? A thought bolstered his resolve. He would succeed. He'd succeed because the One, Unseen would aid him against a twisted soul such as Hikirem's.

The next few seconds stretched, time slowing down to a crawl as the world magnified in the Boneyard Warrior's eyes. Link felt the sun caress his back, felt the insects buzz past his face, sensed the creatures of the lake gliding swiftly through the waters. He smelt the earthy tang of the grass, combined with the heady scent of the newly blooming flowers. He sensed a pair of heartbeats, one hammering loudly, the other slow and ponderous.

The air turned cold instantly, pregnant with the prospect of oncoming rain. A few drops flew into his face. In his mind's eye, he tried to grasp the lake in his hands. It slipped through his fingers, rebelling against his commands, but he pushed at it, whipping it until it submitted. It relented once, twice, then broke, meekly flowing towards him in humble submission.

He heard the Bandit King gasp as the lake churned and bubbled behind him. Eyes flying open, Link slowly lifted his hand, sensing the water behind him rise in time with the gesture. Hikirem's mouth dropped open as the lake took on almost living qualities, bulging and raging as though it seethed with anger.

Every muscle in Link's body stretched to breaking point as he struggled to maintain the connection. Teeth clenched, sweat rolling down his face, he hoped that this little spectacle would be enough to pierce Hikirem's corrupt heart.

"Release...him," Link gasped, his body shuddering from the effort. Gloomy clouds, spitting bolts of lightening, swirled in the sky above, the Boneyard Warrior's dark form framed by the barricade of glittering water, his cloak flapping wildly.

With a bellow of rage, the Bandit King, flinging Harlequin to one side, lunged at the young Hylian. Link spun, dodging the attack and breaking his connection. The water collapsed in on itself with a roar, sending foam into the air. Hikirem plunged into the lake with a splash, choking with shock.

Ignoring the scream of his aching bones, Link flung himself to the ground, grasping for the man's arm. He caught it and, despite the sheer fatigue that wanted to drown his soul, he pulled. "Hold on, damn you," he gasped. "Hold on."

Their eyes locked. Pure hatred churned on Hikirem's face. "I've lost my land. I've lost my minions. I've lost my power and my authority. Women would throw themselves at me, begging me to touch them, and now they won't even give me a second glance. I'd rather burn in the Pit than let _you _rescue me."

With a sharp yank, Hikirem pulled away, his sleeve tearing in Link's fingers. The Bandit King, an insane grin etched on his face, fell back into the water, then sank under the waves, leaving only a trail of bubbles. Link sat back, his shoulders sagging. The Bandit King had made his choice. There was nothing the young Hylian could do about it now, even if he had had the strength left to intervene.

"Mister!" Harlequin called, running up to him. "Mister, are you alright?"

Link pushed him way gently, his mind swimming as it begged to be allowed to rest. "Stupid fool," he moaned. "Stupid ignorant fool."

His friend offered him no words, though Link felt the bandit's hand come to rest on his shoulder. He could sense Harlequin's confusion, his heart in conflict over the Bandit King's fate. Closing his eyes, Link started to drift away into the world of dreams.

Something prodded him. An oddly familiar sensation tickled his heart. His eyelids opened, and he peered across the now calm waters of Lake Hylia.

"What is it, mister?" Harlequin said softly. Dimly, Link noticed that now even his friend's voice had taken on that edge of respectful awe that he'd come to resent from the Lost.

Hope burned in Link's heart as he stood, his legs shaking. "It's Zelda," he replied. A renewed sense of purpose washed over him, melting his fatigue away. "She's close. She's very close."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Flickering torchlight spilled out from the small, round houses, pooling onto the paved streets below as Zelda and Malon threaded in and out of the throng of people, busy in their errands this night in the city of Lon Lon. In the distance, inky black against the starlit sky, Death Mountain Crater stood silently. _As though it were waiting for me_, Zelda thought. Try as she might, she couldn't stop her gaze returning again and again to the shattered mountain, dread curling around her heart like a vice. Her head swam, the blood tingling in her veins, the bile rising in her throat. Trembling, Zelda tried to still the fear she felt, the knowledge that what was to come would surely mean the end of her life. She failed.

"What is it, missy?" Malon asked, her voice soft. She followed Zelda's gaze, saw the mountain, the crescent moon hovering above where its tip once pierced the sky, and then turned back to her. "You haven't been very forthcoming, if you'll be pardoning my prying, as to why you have to go there." There was a pause, as though the banditwoman expected Zelda to answer instantly. "Especially how its having such an effect. Look at you, missy! You're all pale and your skin looks stretched. The sooner we find a place to stay the night, the better you'll feel, if you'll be catching my meaning."

Zelda shook her head. "We don't have any money," she said, ignoring the first question. She had to keep her footing steady as the people around her, absorbed in their own worlds, barged into her without thought or apology. It was as though she didn't even exist. At least, she thought, her ankle had healed from falling off the boulder, and so it wasn't too difficult to keep her balance."Better we find a place to sleep in the streets...somewhere we won't be noticed."

The banditwoman chuckled. "_You _don't have any money, missy," she said, her voice irritatingly smug. "But I do." They stopped outside a large building, water spraying out of a broken drain on one wall, the intricately carved sign above the door proclaiming, in curved letters, that they'd reached the local Treasury. "Wait here. I'll only be a moment."

Zelda tightened her shawl around her shoulders, watching the people pass by, and stepping away from the puddle of water now congealing by her feet; the tiny drops, flashing with flame as they caught the light of nearby lanterns, drumming rhythmically to the ground. She'd fashioned a makeshift scarf to wrap around her ears, but it seemed that no-one would have noticed her anyway, so wrapped up they were in their own selves. Despite the quiet hum of voices and the bustle of activity, Zelda felt utterly alone, disconnected from all around her, a still island of calm in the centre of the chaos around her.

They'd parted from the slaves a few nights ago, each one of them deciding, after much heartfelt thanks, to tread their own paths in the world. Galen had been the most enthusiastic, stubbornly sticking to the conviction that the Hero was coming to bring light back into the world. Zelda had been touched by his sincerity, though not swayed by his beliefs.

Malon had wanted him to come with them, for her own reasons no doubt, but he'd refused with a smile. The banditwoman, probably feeling indebted to Zelda for helping her escape, agreed to aid her in her trek to Death Mountain. At first, Zelda had protested, not wishing to trust the Bandit Queen. She'd be nothing more than a liability. But now, after a few days of travel, Zelda was glad that she was here.

Death Mountain. Her eyes flicked back to its hulking form once more. It was an aptly named place, considering that it would be there that her fate would be decided. Death. An image flashed across her mind, the image of the slave camp guard, his eyes bulging as blood fountained from his ruined heart. He deserved it, she told herself again, though now it was starting to sound hollow even to her. She wouldn't allow her thoughts to prod at the memory though, frightened at where that would lead.

Zelda felt dirty. Not just in her heart, but from wearing the same clothes for too long. Scratching at her wrist, she felt her skin crawl. Her tunic, now torn in various places, still felt stiff, its colour faded.

Still. There were worse places she could have found herself in. The City of Lon Lon was a work of art in itself, exquisitely patterned arches carved from smooth marble curving over the streets, themselves paved with slabs of different colours, also with myriad spiral patterns etched on to them. Lanterns were placed in key positions, giving just the right amount of shadow and light, illuminating the marble surfaces and making the whole city glow with a dreamlike quality. It was, she mused, almost breathtaking, and yet it hurt. It hurt that she'd denied herself all this, fighting her family's neverending battle, and it hurt that she'd probably never really get to soak in this sort of craftmanship or beauty ever again.

Malon emerged from the Treasury, her face bright with a smile, a bag of coin nestling in the palm of one hand.

Zelda frowned. "Where did you...?"

Leaning in closer, the banditwoman's voice dropped to a whisper. "Hikirem wasn't a fool, you know," she snickered. "He kept his money safe." She cocked her head back at the building. "Outside of New Hyrule, this is the biggest Treasury in Greater Calatia. And, of course, me being the Bandit King's wife meant that I could draw as much as I wanted." A laugh floated from her lips.

Zelda smiled in response. It felt strange to think of Malon as a wife since the banditwoman cared not for the sacredness of marriage. Still...who could blame her, with a husband like Hikirem Rusthammer? Zelda's heart tugged as she realised that she would never share in any such bond. A sudden thought blazed into her mind, making her stop short.

Malon turned, confused. "What is it now?"

Zelda stared at her, eyes wide. "You had all of Hikirem's money at your fingertips?"

The banditwoman nodded in response. "That's right, missy."

Anger soared into Zelda's heart. "Then why did you want to sell me as a slave?!"

There was a moment of silence as the two women held each other's gazes. "Because I _could_," Malon replied, her voice cold. "And, besides, Lon Lon was too far away. If Hikirem got here first, I would have been left with nothing."

Zelda could feel the colour drain from her face. Her chest heaved as she tried to control the bubbling emotions within. All she wanted to do was wrap her hands around Malon's neck and shake and shake and shake. She deserved it.

The banditwoman turned on her heel. "Now, come on, missy," she said sharply. "Let's find us a place to sleep and some food to eat."

She hadn't even apologised! Worse, Malon was now acting as though the whole situation was Zelda's fault.

The young Harkinian, her feet dragging, followed in the banditwoman's trail. Her gaze fell across the passers-by, and she looked at them now with angry eyes. She saw one woman slap a child across his face, a red welt blistering on his cheek. Turning her face away, Zelda saw a man, stick in hand, drive away a group of beggars, their cowering bodies frail. Behind her, she caught sight of a young couple, voices raised, their eyes thin like daggers. With a shove, the man pushed the woman to the ground, then sneered down at her.

Were these the people that she had to sacrifice herself for? Were these the people who would continue with their lives, as though asleep in their heedlessness, while she would be buried deep in the ground? Again, the question that had clutched at her mind came again - why should they live, while she didn't? It felt like so long ago now when she wouldn't have hesitated to fight to her last, dying gasp so that all around her could survive...now she wondered why she had even bothered.

"Are you coming, missy?" Malon called, her words sharp with irritation.

"Yes, I'm coming," Zelda mumbled, matching the banditwoman's tone. "Look at me, I'm a naive little lamb...take me to my slaughter please. Really. I beg you. Make me look foolish a few times, too. I'd love that. After all, meat is all I am...either for money or for some ridiculous sacrifice that I never asked to be a part of."

Malon shook her head, frowning as she turned away. "No need to be like that," she said quietly. "We'd all be getting along nice like if we all co-operate."

To her credit, Malon did manage to secure a pair of well-furnished, relatively clean rooms at a nearby inn. A pail of hot water, steam rising from it in trails, was delivered to Zelda and she finally had a chance to bathe, basking in the sensation, her eyes closed, her aching muscles relaxing. Later a rap on her door revealed that the banditwoman had bought her a package, within which was a fresh tunic, the scent of rose clinging to every thread. Zelda held it close to her, not sure whether to feel touched or resentful.

Feeling all sense of weariness evaporate from her, the young Harkinian made her way to the dining hall, batting away the smoke that stung her eyes. Laughing patrons tucked into their meals, while others cheered on a game of chance. Zelda found Malon, also dressed in fresh attire, sitting by herself at one table in the corner. She had a travelpack full of supplies by her feet.

Zelda joined the banditwoman, and soon a meal was placed before them, the young Harkinian wolfing the food down, delighting in the smooth flavour of the smoked meat, and then the sweet tang of the fresh fruits. They indulged in a little idle conversation, a few words that were merely comments on their surroundings.

Leaning back in her chair, her stomach heavy and content, Zelda still felt the dull throb of pain from what Malon had planned to do with her. "So," she said. "If you think so little of me, why are you helping me now?" She gestured at the remains of their meal. "Why all this?"

Malon, seemingly pondering on her words as Zelda waited in silence, prodded the inside of her cheek with her tongue. "Missy," she said finally. "I didn't always live at the bandit camp with Hikirem. I used to be just an ordinary girl, living an ordinary life, happy with the pets that my father brought home for me."

Zelda gave no response, tapping her fingers gently against the table. A roar from the other side of the room made them jump, but seeing it as nothing more than the antics of a group of rowdy young men, they turned back to face one another.

"Used to tell me stories, my papa did," the banditwoman continued, sadness simmering in her voice. "There was one I'd always ask him to repeat. I loved it, I did."

Disquiet murmured in Zelda's heart as she guessed what was coming. "What was it about?"

"About a Princess," Malon replied. "About her Knight. About how they had to protect the world from evil." She blushed slightly, as though embarrassed by her own words. "That sort of thing. But, you know what was different about this story, missy? You know what made me fall in love with it?"

"Tell me."

"My papa used to insist that the story was true. He was so adamant about it, it used to scare me as a little girl." She shook her head, lost in her memories. "But it captured my imagination, it did. I used to wonder...what if it was true? And then, papa would say that story would repeat itself...over and over, until...well, I don't know. Until the end of time, I suppose."

Her gaze level, Zelda asked, "And the Princess...she had a name?"

Malon sighed. "We both know the answer to that, missy," she said. "In the scroll that my papa used to read from, they even had pictures." Here, the banditwoman's stare grew more intense. "You _are _her, aren't you?"

Quickly letting her eyes drop to the floor, Zelda pushed against the table, ready to get up and walk away. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't go, missy," the banditwoman said, reaching out to gently touch Zelda's hand. "I'm wondering why you need to go to Death Mountain. But maybe I shouldn't ask. Maybe the answer will frighten me."

Once again, Zelda found her heart softening towards the other woman, despite what she'd tried to do to her. "But you're going to help me get there?"

Malon's eyes shone with resolve. "Yes," she replied. "But it seems to me that you're not quite keen on going, if you'll be catching my meaning, missy."

For a brief moment, Zelda considered telling the banditwoman everything - the Cycle, Link, what was demanded of her, but she stopped herself in time. There was nothing Malon could do to ease her burden, and Zelda would only end up sounding like a child trapped in a pool of her own self-pity.

"So," Malon continued, her eyes now sparkling with mischief. "Are you promised to someone?"

"Promised?" Zelda was genuinely confused.

"Misssyyyy," the banditwoman teased, her grin growing wider. "Don't you have a beau waiting for you...a fiance pining away back home?" She planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Tell me _everything_."

Zelda's mind drifted back to her time in the Harkinian safehouse, using all the hours of the day and night to plot, plan and train. "No," she said. "No one like that. I never...I never had the time."

Her mouth dropping open in mock-surprise, Malon gasped, saying, "You're teasing me!" Her gaze danced around the room, searching, searching - then stopped, her eyes narrowing. She tapped Zelda's arm. "What about him?" she said, winking.

"What?" the Hylian replied with a frown.

Malon started gesturing with her head. "Him!" Zelda stared back blankly. "Missy!" Each jerk of the banditwoman's neck was getting wilder and wilder now, and the Harkinian almost thought she'd do some damage to herself.

Finally understanding, Zelda followed Malon's gaze, and saw that she was referring to a somewhat comely young man, brown hair cut short, a well-muscled form outlined under his tunic. The man, sensing their stares, glanced at them, and flashed a wide grin.

Zelda snapped her eyes away quickly, her heart lurching. "Stop it!" she hissed. "You're drawing attention to us!"

A lop-sided smile spread on Malon's face. "That's the idea, missy."

"No," Zelda said, her teeth clenched. "Malon...it wouldn't be good for any man to get attached to me."

"Oh, it's like that, missy?" the Bandit Queen replied, not catching the warning in the Harkinian's tone. "A little heartbreaker, are you?"

"No..." Zelda said, her voice faltering. "_Yes. _Just...just trust me on this."

They lapsed into silence, the banditwoman still letting her eyes traverse the room, before she turned and said, "You miss the fairy boy, don't you?"

A heated denial sprang to Zelda's lips, but then she paused, considering. It was true, she realised. In the brief time that she and Link had spent travelling, she'd grown to depend on his infectious, if misguided, optimism. His determination that there was a way for to be saved had sparked a foolish hope within her own heart, too. It had given her a reason to keep on going.

Her feelings, turning cold and black, withered and died as she remembered what exactly Link was. A Royal Assassin. Sworn to hunt down the King's enemies - her family their most obsessive priority. Tears welled up in her eyes. What did it matter how committed he was to save her? How could someone so devoid of compassion hold her in such high regard? And still...still, in terms of truly sincere people in her lives, he was all she had.

Malon, of course, misinterpreted her actions. "Don't worry, missy," she said, patting Zelda's hand. "I'm sure you'll see him again. He seemed rather...ah...insistent that Hikirem release you. I'm sure he's out searching for you right this minute."

Zelda was drawn from her thoughts by the sight of a young girl, dressed in white and pasty in complexion, staring intently at their table as she stood unnoticed in the middle of the room. She nudged Malon. "Who's that?" she whispered.

Turning, the banditwoman frowned. "Don't know, missy," she replied. "Don't like the way she's looking at us, either."

"Do you think she recognises us?"

Malon shook her head. "Who even knows we're here?"

The little girl slowly raised a hand, beckoning as she smiled.

Zelda, feeling somehow compelled, rose to her feet, the legs of her chair scraping noisily against the floor.

"Missy," Malon said, concern lacing her voice. "Do you think this is wise?"

Her eyes feeling heavy, Zelda replied in a dreamlike voice, "It's just a little girl, Malon. What harm could she do?"

The Harkinian pushed past the patrons, some spilling their drinks and throwing curses, as she made her way to the girl. She sensed Malon following behind her, but couldn't turn to make sure. She felt tired, so very tired. It must be all the travelling she had done, she decided. That, coupled with her lack of sleep.

The girl turned and left via the door. Zelda and Malon followed, stepping back into the street outside. Scanning the area, Zelda saw the girl run here and there, her dark-haired head bobbing up and down in the crowd.

"Hey, little girl," Zelda called, quickly gaining pace. Iron resolve tightened in her heart. She didn't know why, but she had to find that child. "Come back!"

They began to run, dodging the people on the streets, and found themselves moving away from the main hub of the city. Blood pumped in her chest, her head beginning to spin as Zelda ran on, a creeping sense of desperation crawling over her soul. The wind gently pushed at her face, but she ignored it, peering ahead, trying to keep her eyes on the little girl.

And then the child was gone, lost in the throng. Zelda stood, downcast, a vein in her temple throbbing as she tried to regain her breath. Frustration irritated her heart.

"Just...just..." Malon gasped, between deep breaths. "Just...a baby, missy. She was...probably playing a game. We should have... ignored her."

"I don't know," Zelda whispered, her eyes frantically searching the faces of every passer-by. "She wanted something. I think she needs help."

"How'd you figure that?" the banditwoman asked.

Zelda shrugged. "It's just that-" A flash of dark hair framing a ghostly face appeared some way ahead of them. "Look! There she is!"

The girl, surprisingly light on her feet, continued to evade them, leading them through the last few districts, then out into the meadows outside. The two women pursued, dust puffing up from under their boots. Still chasing, Zelda and Malon entered a large field of crops; thick, green stalks scratching at their fresh clothes.

Then, in a sudden motion, the child came to a stop, spinning around and facing them. Insects chirped from amongst the undergrowth, and the moon's pale glow painted the girl's already ethereal features an extra shade of silver. It was Malon, eventually, who decided to make the first movement, cautiously stepping over to the child.

Zelda stayed where she was, a frown slowly creasing her face. Behind the little girl, dark shapes stood, silent....trees, she thought...or maybe some sort of strange plant that grew to unnatural heights.

Malon crouched down by the child. "Are you alright, little missy?" she cooed. "Why were you running from us?"

Ice gripped Zelda's heart. A strange sensation floated over her, a sensation that spoke of danger to come. She jumped. She could have sworn she saw one of the dark shadows move. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The girl, crimson light flooding its eyes, suddenly snapped her head towards Zelda. The demon's voice, so long trapped in her own mind, rang out. "_So very easy, Princess._"

"No!" she gasped.

The shadows moved, revealing themselves to be Hylian soldiers, their crossbows buzzing.

"Malon!" It was too late. The image of the child shattered into a million crystal shards as the arrows, flame pushing them onwards, screamed through the air.

Heart bursting with fear, Zelda dived into the undergrowth, the green stems snapping, their remains clawing into her skin. "Malon," she breathed as she lay flat on the ground, feeling the soft, crumbling soil beneath her. She could hear the soldiers searching for her, their voices cruel, drained of emotion.

Watching the blurry shadows hover above her, Zelda dug her fingers into the earth, seething inside. Malon had bought plenty of supplies with her money, but she hadn't bothered to buy any weapons. Zelda longed for her knives, so much so that she could almost feel the cold steel in her hands. Her fists clenched and unclenched, frustration making them tremble.

She crawled through the undergrowth, feeling the urgent thud of her heart in her ears. She froze. Another shape was heading towards her, scrabbling through the dirt. Zelda's mouth dropped open, knowing that she had little time to escape. They were going to catch her! They were -

"Missy!" Malon hissed, her face pale with shock as she reached Zelda.

It took a moment for Zelda's mind to register the message her eyes were telling her. "Malon!" she whispered as joy fought with the fear in her heart. "You're alive!"

A wry smile crossed the banditwoman's face. "Living with Hikirem taught me a few tricks, if you be catching my meaning," she said.

Zelda threw a furtive glance behind her, then turned back to the banditwoman -

- to find that Malon had disappeared. A gust of wind blew, a sigh carrying the hint of laughter. She saw the shadowy forms of the soldiers nearby...then a flash, the world fading to grey, and the shadows, too, vanished. No...not vanished...they'd just somehow shifted position.

Gazing back towards Lon Lon, Zelda saw the burning lights of the city shine. A crack rang out, like the snap of a whip, then images spun across her mind - the Harkinian safehouse, Kafei, the Elders, Link, the Deku Tree. Malon reappeared, but her form was fractured, as though she were a mirror cracked in the centre.

Zelda closed her eyes. "Stop it," she hissed. "Whoever and whatever you are, just stop." It was the first time that she ever really addressed the demon. No reply came, so she tried again, forcing the heat of her emotions into her words. "You're a coward. Face me...let me see who you are." A stab of anger spiked her heart. "So I can know who it is that I'm about to kill."

"_Your life is mine to do with as I please._" The demon's dull tones echoed around her head. She sensed the irritation lacing its voice. Good! "_I hate you. I hate everything about you. Soon...soon, you'll be dead, the Demon will be dead, and the world will be mine again. And still I won't be rid of you. Why? Because you'll haunt my mind till the day the stars fade and die...and this is why I hate you so much. I hate you because you remind me of **her** so much. "_

Zelda's eyes snapped open, the world setting itself aright once more. Her mind spun for a heartbeat, then the disorientation left her. She saw Malon beside her, where she'd seen her last, and it was clear that no one else but Zelda had experienced the vision.

Malon glanced up. "What do we do now?"

Zelda's eyes darted left and right as she quickly refocused on their situation. There was no way they could escape, their movements sure to be noticed eventually. The soldiers probably had reinforcements posted ahead and behind anyway. She looked up, noticing that they still had the cover of darkness. If only they had one of those crossbows, too. Cold determination washed over her heart. "We fight."

Without waiting to see Malon's response, Zelda leapt from the ground, barely a whisper revealing her movements. It wasn't enough. One soldier, his keen hearing catching her, spun around, and fired off two shots. Zelda lurched, surprised. The two arrows, burning the air with their momentum, zipped past either side of her and, not waiting to give him another chance, she threw herself at him, colliding with a grunt.

They rolled on the ground, each trying desperately to get an advantage. He was too strong, though, and threw her off with a sharp tug.

Zelda rolled again, then sprung up, her heels slipping, then digging into the earth. Again, she felt that touch of disquieting doubt, that sense that something wasn't quite right. It came to her as the soldier fired again, the spinning arrows this time flying past her legs.

He could have killed her if he'd wanted with the very first shot. She'd been stupid to make herself such an open and easy target, but the fact that he hadn't told Zelda something - that the soldiers were shooting to wound. They wanted her alive.

Emboldened by that nugget of knowledge, the young Harikinian leapt in closer, knowing that he wouldn't dare fire at such a close range. She was right. The soldier hesitated, confused. That briefest of pauses was enough for her, and she threw a kick straight into his bow, shattering it, but also sending shooting pain reverberating around her foot.

_Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_ Had her situation dulled her skills so easily? Zelda hissed, trying to shake off the pain. The soldier dropped his ruined weapon, bringing his fists up to bear. They watched each other, their eyes cautious. The man feinted to the left, to the right, then to the left again, and then swung, throwing his whole body behind the punch.

Zelda, speed her ally, dodged, then brought her knee cracking into his face. Again splintering pain spread through her leg. She cursed herself inwardly. She'd let herself get too out of practice.

Her breath left her in an instant as something heavy careened into her back, bringing her to the ground. Soil flew into her mouth, almost choking her. The crescent moon and stars spun slowly above her, and her ears still rang from the impact. She felt a boot rest on her chest, pinning her down.

All she could see were shadowed shapes above her, indistinct, and yet they moved and spoke, though the words were not registering in her mind. Zelda heard a shriek, and she knew that they'd caught Malon. The sharp taste of anger rose in her throat. She'd made a terrible mistake - it must have been oh-so-easy for them to pick the two of them off like this.

Her eyelids heavy, Zelda watched the mass of shadow grow in her vision. She was beaten - but by who? And why?

As she continued to watch, she noticed another shadow approach; slower, as though it wanted to remain unnoticed. Yet another soldier, no doubt. Then, as though it were liquid night itself, it moved, a blurry wind that passed through the assembled group in the twinkling of an eye. A heartbeat passed, then the soldiers fell to the ground in a heap, their crossbows clattering, some of them moaning, others curling in pain.

Frowning, Zelda pulled herself up, staring up at the newcomer. He stood silently, waiting. "Forgotten me already, have you?"

Zelda peered at his face. Yes...she had seen him before. But he'd looked younger than, with rage smouldering in his eyes, not this sheen of perfect serenity. He'd been a boy then...the person standing before her was clearly a man.

Gasping as recognition hit her, Zelda scrambled to her feet, the blissful relief coursing through her soul blunting the pain of her body. One word, a name, rolled off her tongue and, to her, it sounded like the most sweetest thing in the world: "Link!"

**A/N**: A number of questions in your reviews...

**Jewel** asked: "I thought the Hylian race believed in only one triune divinity, the three goddesses. If this is true, however, who is this "One, the Unseen" that Link draws his power from?"

This is just me playing with canon. 'Official' Zelda lore tells us that Link is the spotlessly pure willing hero, Zelda is royalty living in her castle, Ganondorf is always evil, and the Hylians believe in three goddesses. What I wanted to do with this story was just invert everything, and also to show how things had changed in five hundred years. Plus, I wanted to have a 'hook' that would make my story a little bit different than your usual story...and the spiritual/mysticism thing is that hook. It was mentioned in an earlier chapter that the one Divinity was the same for everybody, but described and interpreted by different people in different ways. If you take that, then you can see that it's just a matter of interpretation.

**Jewel **(and **ayachan**) also suggested: "Can you try to spice things up a bit with some romance? I love LZ, and I wonder if, eventually, this will be one."

There was a Link/Zelda romance in my previous story, and I really, _really_ did not like it. It worked in the context of the story, and some reviewers liked it, while others said it wasn't enough (wOOt! They were _literally_ in each other's heads!). I wanted to do something different with this story...there are emotional bonds between the characters, but they're understated. It's clear that certain characters do care about each other, and this affects their actions - actions, after all, speak louder than words.

I hope that's more interesting than just going on a mush overdrive. Link and Zelda will be having a heart-to-heart in a later chapter (which I'm currently working on)...whether that will satisfy the romantics amongst you, I don't know. I don't think a story needs to have a romance in order to have emotional impact. All I ask is that you wait till the story is over, then go back and read it all again and see what kind of emotional crescendo (for lack of a better term) I was trying to build towards (unless I fail completely, that is). It's a bit more subtle than in my last story. Sorry to disappoint you.

If you are looking for an old-fashioned well-written LoZ romance, then you should, if you haven't already done so, check out 'Quill and Ink' by LauraCeleste.

Thank you all for your comments, suggestions and intelligent points. I appreciate it. I can't mention everyone here...you know who you are.

Last, but not least:

**Phantwo**: who didn't ask me any questions, but who I'd like to single out for unceasing support and reviews, and just to remind myself, and everyone else, that if not for her, I'd have given up on this story a long time ago. Please do read her very well-written fic 'In My Hands'. Thank you, Phantwo.

Peace.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

The battle raged in front of her eyes, the wheeled war machines of the Zora creaking as they rolled closer to New Hyrule, rocks and vegetation wilting, then bursting into powder under their weight. Catapults sprang noisily into action, flinging boulders against the city's defensive walls, while the Calatians fought back, their arrows, coming in waves, looking tiny and fragile. Zora foot soldiers, their lithe, grey bodies wrapped in dull armour, swarmed at the base of the walls, their shields deflecting the barrage of arrows, their swords slicing through skin and splintering bone . Thick black smoke blotted out the sun, the air thick with the groans of the wounded and the screams of the dying. A cold chill, seductive in its sweetness, washed over the Princess. She had to admit that she enjoyed the spectacle.

Situated safely at the rear of the Zora army, she stood upon one of the war machines, its wood warped and cracked, and waited for the wall to collapse. Seaweed curled around the wheels and the hinges, the only sign that these monstrous vehicles and been once submerged at the bottom of the ocean. Flanking her were the Twins, her silent honour guards. Various Zora would come and ask after her health or bring her pouches of water. She accepted them gingerly, though it disgusted her to drink from something those foul creatures had touched. On the other hand, she was finally receiving the service she was due. An army at her fingertips, minions acting on her every whim - this was more like it.

For so many summers she had kept an icy control over her emotions, not showing anyone a hint of the feelings that stirred within. But now she couldn't help but let go, the elation that she felt in her heart, fuelled by bloodlust and the scent of victory, almost spilling over. "Magnificent."

"I'm glad you think so." It was the Zora Duchess, Ruto who, along with Sahasrahla, were the only other people allowed to stay back. "But I don't think we Zora can take all the credit."

"Nonsense," the Princess replied, her voice soft as though in awe. She'd once felt cowed by the sea-creature, but now, standing here with her back rigid with pride, she considered Ruto her equal. _No, _she corrected herself quickly. Her _inferior. _"This has been a resounding success. All that remains is for us is storm the castle and for me to ascend the throne." Her voice caught at the end as the tremble of anticipation let loose by her heart reached her throat.

"Look at the damage on the inner wall," Ruto continued. "It seems the city has suffered some recent damage." She paused, lost in her thoughts. "There was another battle here, not so long ago."

"Another..?" the Princess asked. "But who would..?"

"Boarhound." This time it was Sahasrahla who had spoken. The Princess turned to him, noticed the worried mask that he wore, and motioned at him to continue. "Look closely, Your Majesty. Those soldiers...they are not Calatian. They are Hylian. I can only assume that the Hylian Chief staged some sort of revolt."

The Princess peered through the smoke and flame, trying to catch a glimpse of the city's defenders. Her heart thudded in her chest, tight from a nervous twinge as she hoped that the wise old man was wrong. She saw one of the soldiers then, the curve to his ears filling her with cold dismay. "How did this happen?"

Before anyone could answer, the Princess had to steady herself as her vehicle shook, the release of a catapult nearby sending out concentric waves of energy . Her eyes followed the path of the boulder as it streaked into the sky, pierced through a haze of smoke and fire, spun as a sudden flock of arrows desperately tried to stop it, then ploughed into the wall, shattering bodies and pounding masonry to dust.

Her people. It was her people who were being slaughtered. A mixture of hate and disgust, tempered with sorrow and regret, churned in her soul. How dare anyone hurt her people? They were _hers_, _her _responsibility. And yet she had to wonder at why exactly they were fighting for the Calatians - had they betrayed the legacy of their race so easily? And more - it was the Princess herself that was leading this attack upon them. Their blood now stained her hands.

"Perhaps," Sahasrahla added, his voice thick. "If we could call a truce, we might be able to negotiate. Once they see we have the Princess, that is."

"No," the Harkinian sovereign replied. "All they can see are Zora. They would not believe us."

The old man frowned. "But, Your Majesty," he said, a cautious tint to his voice. "People are dying. We could end this."

The Princess set her face rigid, ice running in her veins as her determination solidified. "Let them die." She almost laughed as Sahasrahla recoiled in shock. From the corner of her eye she saw the Zora watch them both with detached calm. "Either they chose Servion or they chose the King. Either way, they have acted treacherously."

Anger glistened in the old man's eyes. "They don't even know you exist! This is unjust!"

Whirling around, she snarled at him. "Injustice? Don't speak to me of injustice. I am the Princess of Destiny. I am the best judge of who is to live or to die."

Sahasrahla's jaw trembled. "I've never seen you like this. After all these summers..."

The Princess couldn't resist. Standing on the precipice of her victory, why should she still have to feign friendship with those she despised? "That's because you're a fool. A worthless, Calatian fool." She grinned, her head giddy as she finally unleashed the hate that festered within. "I used you. Yes, I did...so don't look at me like that. I knew you would have information about...about the boy. In the end, you proved to be quite useless."

The vehicle rocked again as more catapults released their burdens. Sahasrahla, his cheek twitching, continued to glare at the Princess.

"Lower your gaze," she warned. "I'll have your eyes for such an insult."

The light of understanding dawned on Sahasrahla's face. "All this time," the old man said, grief almost making him choke. "All this time, and I was wrong. You're not her, are you? You're not Zelda."

The Princess was tiring of the conversation. "I don't know what you mean," she snapped. "I am the one mentioned in the scrolls. Zelda?" She frowned as she thought back. "That was the name of my decoy. She's not important...in fact," and here her voice became heavy with sadness. "In fact...I think she's dead." Her heart tightened again - she could tolerate the presence of Calatians, Zora and rebel Hylians, but anyone hurting her family was just unbearable. Her hatred grew, flooding through her like poison. She turned to Ruto. "I want you to let all the troops know - once the wall falls, I want them to kill any Calatian they find. Every man. Every woman. Every child."

The Duchess bowed. "If that is necessary for the cleansing," she said. "Then we shall do it."

"You're insane." It was Sahasrahla again. The Princess rolled her eyes, hissing inwardly. Why wouldn't the doddering old fool keep quiet? He was slowly shuffling away from them now, his whole body trembling as he gazed from one to the other. "You're both insane." This time he stared at the Zora. "You said you wouldn't kill us all. You said that you were fighting to re-establish order."

"Little man," Ruto replied, her voice cold and imperious. "Do not judge the Zora."

Sahasrahla grit his teeth. "I have to stop you."

Shaking her head at the man's folly, the Princess turned to the Zora. "Duchess."

Ruto gave the smallest of nods, and then she whirled on her heel. A flash of silver followed, like a shooting star streaking across the darkest of nights, her arm arcing gracefully, and Sahasrahla gagged, shock in his eyes, stumbling as a thin line of scarlet slowly soaked into his tunic.

The Princess, her eyes hollow, watched the old man convulse as he died, choking and jerking all the while. She glanced at the Twins, wondering at their reaction, but their faces were stoic, calm. Her lip curled. Of course they were. No one would dare rise against her now. Still...they were Calatian, too. She knew that her time to be truly free had not come yet; she knew that she still had to make a show of it.

The Princess turned to the Zora. "I fear more such as this will follow." She put just the right amount of sorrow and regret into her voice. "How will I keep the people in place? Won't they revolt against my authority?"

"Do not worry," Ruto replied, wiping her dagger with a cloth. "If the people of this land are so dense that they cannot accept justice or order, or the presence of a strong ruler, then..." She cocked her head to one side, eyes as black as midnight glimmering, catching the glow of the dancing flames. "Then we will just have to force it upon them."

The Princess smiled, her head almost spinning from the exhilarating sense of power that was coursing through her at that moment. There was something oddly familiar about it, too. Perhaps it was just a faint recollection of times long past - it was clear that once this battle, paid for with Zora blood, reached its end, the Harkinians would once more rule the world. She could barely contain her glee.

"I believe, Duchess," the Princess said. "That we could become the best of friends."

...

Servion pulled tightly on the chain wrapped around his victim's throat. He walked around the misshapen creature - what was it called again? The Lost? - barely able to hide his revulsion. "I will let you go," he said. "If you tell me where the Hylian boy was heading. Do we have a bargain?"

The creature, a male Servion decided, though it was hard to tell through all the deformities, clutched at the chain, his face red and his tear-stained eyes bulging. "What...what..." he choked, "what guarantee...do I have?"

Boarhound shrugged. "I am the Hylian Chief. My word is sacrosanct."

"Please..." The man, his knees scraping against the gravel, continued to struggle against his bonds. "I just want to be with my family."

"And you will be," Servion hissed. "If you only tell me where the boy went."

It had taken them long enough to find out where Link had gone after he'd fled the bandit camp. They'd run into many dead-ends, false leads that had driven them astray from his trail. Disconcertingly for Servion, the Holy himself had remained silent, and this after promising to lead him directly to Link. It had only been a few nights ago that the Holy had reappeared, ordering Servion to send his remaining soldiers to the City of Lon Lon. The Holy had seemed distracted, so the Chief hadn't dared to ask him about the boy.

And so he and Kisho had had to make their own little enquiries. Finding themselves in the Valley of Perpetual Night, they came across persistent rumours of a Hylian 'Hero'. Kisho had rejected it instantly, not believing that Link could be capable of fitting that particular description. Servion, on the other hand, knew it had to be Link, and soon they found themselves nearing the Village of the Lost - this pathetic, accursed tribe of Calatians - and had managed to ambush one for questioning.

"I ask again," the Chief said, realising that no answer was forthcoming. "Where did the boy go?"

The man heaved, as though he were about to weep, then glared up at the Chief. "I don't know, you hear me?" he spat. "We don't know where he was intending to go...all I know is that he started his journey going due south."

Servion smiled. "See?" he said, uncoiling the chain. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

The man's face took on an expression of complete surprise, though the doubt in his voice was clear. "I'm...I'm free to go?"

"Yes," Servion said, stepping back. He gestured with his hand. "You are free."

A smile spread on the creature's face as he scrambled towards Servion, clutching at the Chief's tunic in gratitude. "Oh, thank you, sir," he cried, tears now flowing freely. "Thank you so much. My daughter, mister, she's still so small, and she was sick, and and and I thought I'd never see her again." He began sobbing, his eyes closed tightly as he rubbed his face against Servion's clothes. "I thought I'd never see her again."

The Hylian Chief had to clench his fists in order to stop himself from retching in disgust. It made his skin crawl to see this pathetic mess cling to him so tightly. "No," he said, needing all his self-control to keep his voice calm. "It is I who should apologise to you." Grabbing the man's collar, Servion pulled him to his feet. "Now go."

Relief evident on the creature's twisted face, he bowed in gratitude once more, then turned and ran back towards the village. Servion waited, watching. Then, with a satisfied grin rapidly growing on his face, he flipped a dagger from his belt, pulled back his arm, and threw. His aim was true, and the sharp-edged blade tore through the creature's neck with a short burst of blood.

Servion chuckled. "Disgusting filth," he muttered. He looked up to see Kisho, arms folded across his chest, glaring at him. "You don't approve, assassin?"

"You promised him," Kisho replied, a thin layer of quiet menace coating his words. "What you did was dishonourable."

The Chief snorted in scorn. "Assassin's gained a conscience now, has he?" He laughed. "Besides, you didn't really want to let him run back to his other moblins and raise the alarm, did you?" When Kisho did not reply, Servion went on, "Those animals don't deserve to share the same space as us anyway. They are...inferior."

The assassin continued to stare. "Inferior to who, exactly?" he spat. "To Calatians? To Hylians?" His eyes thinned. "To _you_?"

Servion turned away. There was little point in him indulging in this conversation. He knew that Calatians had been cursed with small minds, and were unable to grasp the lofty ideals that he himself held dear. There were only two ways to bring such rabble under heel - by the sword and by the whip. Soon, as the instrument of the Holy's design, he would bring peace and order to the world, and narrow minded sinners like Kisho would be forced to acknowledge exactly how beneficent Servion really was. All he needed was a little patience.

"I also don't understand," the assassin called from behind him, "exactly why you sent your remaining men off on some errand that you won't even tell me about. I do not think that was very prudent."

The man's voice beginning to grate on him, Servion spun around. "What's the matter, assassin? Are you afraid?" His lip curled in scorn. "Afraid your little Link boy will defeat you like he defeated your two teammates?" A bizarre sense of pride rose within him. "How about that? A young _Hylian _managed to best two seasoned _Calatian _assassins."

Kisho didn't rise to the taunt, though Servion could see the rage burn in his eyes. "So," the assassin said. "Where _is_ Link?"

The Chief, about to open his mouth for a reply, paused as the familiar luminous cloud, signifying the arrival of the Holy, formed in his mind's eye. Servion could almost taste the relief that welled up from inside.

_"The Demon approaches Kakariko Town. He has Zelda with him...your men failed."_

Servion tried to hide the fear he felt at the implication in the Holy's words, choosing instead to put his most smug expression on display. "Link's at Kakariko," he said, addressing the assassin. "We can cut him off there."

Kisho frowned. "How do you know?"

_"He must not be allowed to reach Death Mountain Crater. You must use the Triforce of Power on the girl before then."_

"Don't concern yourself with such details, assassin," the Chief replied. "Only know that it's true. We have to stop him from going any further. Death Mountain Crater is his destination - he'll be dead before he steps foot on it."

Cocking his head to one side, the assassin's face continued to crease, his curiosity not satiated. "_Why _do we have to stop him? And _why _is he going there?" He took a step forward. "I don't like your games, Servion. Tell me what's really happening."

"_Ignore the fool. My power grows, and yet I am still imprisoned. I have finally broken through the barrier that was keeping me from the Princess."_

Now it was the Chief's turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

Kisho, unable to see anything but Servion, snarled. "More games! You know exactly what I mean." Something shone in his eyes - as though some sort of revelation had just descended upon him. "You know everything, don't you? You know why the King was desperate to make Link flee the city." His fists curled. "Tell me everything, Servion, or I swear I'll gut you right here."

"Then you'll never find Link," the Chief retorted. His mind whirled - it was difficult for him to keep track of two conversations. What barrier was the Holy referring to? "All you need to know is that the boy is evil - and that it rests upon us to stop him."

"Explain."

"I will." He was feeling the buzz of irritation now. Where had the Holy gone? "On the way to Kakariko. We don't have much time."

_"Soon I can bring the Triforce of Wisdom back. Soon...I will be free...and the Triforce will be complete. Soon, the Demon will lay dead at my feet."_

Servion blinked, feeling the presence of the Holy dissipate. He saw the assassin still piercing him with a stare. "We need to work together for now. You seek Link for revenge, but I seek him for a higher purpose."

Kisho, his cheek twitching as he regarded the Chief, gave a short nod. "Just remember what we agreed. We don't harm him yet. And," a dark look overtook his face, "I want to reach him first. Then, you can do whatever you wish with him."

...

Fran watched the walls of the city erupt into dust; stared with mouth agape as the Zora poured in, leaving behind them a trail of blood and corpses. The Hylians began to drop back, their shoulders sagging with defeat, despair their only refuge.

A horn rang out, a piercing shriek that could freeze hearts. Fran found himself rooted to the spot as the world stopped for an ever-so-fleeting moment. Something was in the air, an almost palatable sense of ancient promises renewed, and old stakes reclaimed.

Arrows continued to fly over their heads and the hunter had to keep his head down, leading Mystral by the hand, as they ran. Where they were going Fran didn't exactly know. All that mattered to him was to be free from this madness. Free once and for all.

A sudden shifted in the air, coupled with a descending whistle, alerted Fran to danger. He flung himself to the side, his arm reaching out, acting as a barrier for the girl. "Lass!" he snapped. "Down!"

The boulder smashed into the cobbled street before them, spraying splinters of rock spinning into their faces. Fran covered his eyes with one hand, and with the other he pulled Mystral close, protecting her from the debris.

The girl looked up as the dust settled, panic stretching her eyes. "Fran..." she gasped. "I never knew...never knew it would be this bad."

As she spoke a chorus of screams punctured the air, making her wince. Fran felt his mouth tug in sadness. Had he had the power to do so, he would have found a way to protect all the innocent ones from the darkness in the souls of others. "Don't worry, lass," he said, trying to make himself sound soothing. "I'll not be letting them harm you."

With a sudden yank, Mystral pulled him close to her. For a flash, Fran felt an awkward sense of embarrassment - what was she up to? She was half his age and...

...then he felt the heat of the arrow tear passed his head, its momentum lifting his hair as though it had blown on it.

"Maybe," Mystral said, an amused glint in her eye. "It's me that has to look after you. After all, your supposed 'Hero' couldn't make it through the day without me pulling him by the ear."

And despite all the insanity swirling around them, Fran laughed, his body relaxing just a tad. "Aye, lass, I'm too old for this."

The mirth vanished from her face. "And Link is too young."

He had no words to offer her, just a sad smile and a squeeze of her hand.

"I wonder where the King and Impa are," Mystral added.

"I don't know." The two of them had left, saying that they had 'work to do.' "Let's hope they know what they're doing."

"And what about _us?"_

It was then that Fran saw the Zora army surge, at the head of which a familiar figure stood. His heart filled with joy. "It's Zelda," he breathed. It struck him at how much alike she now looked to his Queen - when he'd first met her, he couldn't see the resemblance. Now he realised that it was because the Princess was much younger than the Queen he'd known. "We have to get to her."

Mystral motioned with her head. "They're headed for the castle, I think."

A quick glance confirmed it for Fran. "You're right. Let's go...she knows me. She won't hurt me."

A glaze of doubt coated Mystral's eyes, but she nodded and followed anyway. They hopped over rubble and darted around burning remains, always making sure to keep out of sight of both the Hylians and the Zora. It was a little easier now as both armies were more concerned with each other than with the two of them.

Link and Zelda. That's all that Fran had left. That's the reason he believed that he'd been sent here - deprived of his friends and his family in the process. Zelda would know what to do. She would restore peace to this broken land. Fran found himself smiling again, hope blanking out the reality around him. It spurred him on, though, and he tugged Mystral harder.

This would all be over soon, he knew. Zelda would rule like she had before, and Link would be back with them. Fran could finally rest. He even felt his body tingle, as though he had just realised exactly how tired he was of his life.

The streets now deserted, they ran across the remains of the streets, pausing to lay their backs flat against a building, their eyes searching for enemies. No-one came to them. There was silence, except for the distant thud of the Zoras boots as they marched onward.

When they reached Castle Dragmire they found a heap of dead Hylians piled outside the now shattered entrance. Small fires burned, glowing ash giving off trails of smoke. Fran and Mystral, stepping over the dead, stepped inside.

It was dark and silent. Ornamented pillars stood in the main hallway, streaked with blood, the paintings on the walls slashed. Something splashed under their feet. Fran didn't have to look down to know that he'd see scarlet liquid staring back at him. Thankfully, Mystral hadn't noticed. He knew that the knowledge would sicken her, or worse, plague her dreams for the rest of her life.

A glimmer of movement caught Fran's attention. His eyes squinting, he peered past the pillars to see who was there. The three figures revealed themselves, curiously alone - had the Zoras abandoned them? And where was Sahasrahla? - and Fran was gladdened to see the Princess and the Twins.

"Master Marcaster..." Kya began.

"...welcome," Eagle finished.

He nodded in response, then turned his attention to Zelda. "Princess," he said, his voice echoing through the cavernous chamber. "It's good to see you again."

"I was waiting for you, Fran," she replied. There was an odd tone to her voice, a hollowness that the hunter found disturbing. She vanished behind a pillar, then emerged again, walking slowly. "I knew you'd try to stop me."

The hunter blinked - how had she known he was here in the city, let alone following her to the castle? He felt something cold drop onto his heart.

She stopped, her face impassive. "As you can see, I have made new allies."

Fran recalled his last encounter with the Zora. "I'm glad they treated you better than they did me."

Her eyes flashed. "You were not needed anymore."

He had to stop himself from flinching, so much had her blunt words hurt. "I see. Well, I should -"

"Do not interfere, Fran." A shadow crossed her face. The hunter felt his heart begin to thud faster. "Let me complete my destiny."

"Which is...?"

"_Revenge._" Blood poured into her eyes as Fran recoiled in horror. The door slammed shut behind them with a booming sigh. A gust of ice filled the air, the temperature dropping fast. Outside, through the windows, Fran could see the sky darken, a billowing cloud raging against the heavens.

Gripping Mystral's hand tightly, Fran swallowed, desperately trying to bring some moisture back into his mouth. "Who _are_ you?"

"_You don't know me, Marcaster_." The Princess sneered, her voice now clearly male. "_But I know you. You were in this one's memories. Strange...how you still live after all this time._"

"What have you done with Zelda?"

The Princess laughed, a menacing sound that made Fran want to scream and weep at the same time. "_Zelda._ _I have her, too...though not as much as I have this one. It was strange, you see. Trapped as I was, I managed to tap into the Triforce of Wisdom. It lay buried deep in this one's body...all I had to do was breathe deeply into it, and it awoke, a puppet in my hands. But she was too strong...as usual, she fought back. Her old sensibilities, pathetic and weak as they were, came back. And yet...and yet...I had touched her somehow, changed her. It was delicious to see her become a cold-hearted witch._"

Fran shook his head unconsciously. He had no idea what the monster was talking about. He searched the Twins' eyes desperately, but they showed no sign that they were concerned in the least. What was going on here? Glancing at Mystral, herself stunned into silence, he saw his own confusion swimming her eyes.

"_I presented her to the Harkinians. They took it as a sign - a miracle. Weak-minded fools! But then, somehow, she drove me out...forced me back into my prison. She was strong like that. But my poison grew within her - and she no longer remembered who or what she was as she rotted from within. And, because of that, it was pure simplicity to take back my puppet once more._"

"I don't understand," the hunter said. "But whatever you are, your life ends here." Fran flinched once more as lightening flashed from outside.

"_Of course it is. I'm too powerful for you now. For all of you. But you say you don't understand...perhaps I can show you the oh-so-sweet truth."_

Fran watched, fear clutching at his heart, as the Princess slowly raised a hand. Then, as though she were dropping skin, something melted away from her; her face growing older, the youth seeping away from it. As the lines returned to her face, her hand shimmered, then dissipated, her skin and bones collapsing into smoke.

Recognition struck Fran like an arrow. Horror made his heart lurch painfully. It _was_ Zelda. _His _Zelda. "My Queen..."

"_Dead, I'm afraid, Marcaster,"_ the Princess-creature said. "_I blotted out her personality once and for all. All that remains is me...but don't you find it amusing? Don't you find it oh-so-enlightening? The instrument of my vengeance is the very Queen whom you loved so dearly._" A shrieking laughter followed, rolling around the chamber, as thunder bellowed from outside.

Fran reeled, the shock stinging his mind. His heart, so very recently bubbling with hope, now felt it would shatter with grief. It couldn't be! What had this monster done to her?

"That's interesting." Mystral and the hunter turned to the sound of the new voice. Fran heard the girl sigh in relief as Montero and Impa emerged from the shadows. "Don't you find it interesting, Impa?"

"Fascinating," the Hylian woman replied.

The duo, their expressions stony, continued to stare. The King spoke again. "Impa - if you'd be so kind."

A sigh of metal rang out as a sword was drawn. "It would be my pleasure."

Fran, his eyes darting from the King to the Princess, came to a decision - the only one that his heart would allow. Reaching back, he pulled his bow free. "Your Majesty," he said, nodding at Montero. "I believe we have a city to liberate."


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Zelda was ready. Her travel pack, tied in a neat little bundle, lay on the bed. Midafternoon sunlight poured through the small window, washing the room with an orange glow. Her elbows on the sill, she peered outside, breathing in deeply as she watched the denizens of Kakariko Town on the streets below her. Sights and sounds drifted up - the entertainers on the streets juggling for the children, the irritated shouts of the traders, sizzling fat on slowly spinning skewers. Her keen eye told her that the entertainers were amateurs, though a tug of pain reminded her that that was exactly how she and her family had fought to earn a living.

She'd spent the previous day just sitting at her window like that. The morning revealed the coming of the traders, the women in the building opposite to theirs discarding of their waste water by dropping it from buckets onto the streets, and the gentle hum of conversation. Night brought with it a different type of person, darkness clouding their features, the mischievous intent in their eyes clear. It was life, she mused. The whole town was brimming with life.

Zelda glanced back at her travel pack and then, just as in the previous four times, a cold weight in the pit of her stomach made her pause. She couldn't do it. Yet again, she couldn't do it. Where would she have gone anyway? How could she have lived with herself? An insane fantasy rushed through her mind, the idea that she could have run away with Link to live in some remote settlement - the desert, maybe - and wait out the rest of her days. She flicked the thought away without even giving it a second chance.

Link. Yet another issue for her to dwell on. She'd been overjoyed to find him again after so long and then, after that, she couldn't bring herself to even talk to him. Everytime she thought of him, her relief was blunted by the image of the slave guard, his face twisting in pain, his eyes asking 'why?' So, she'd make excuses, either spending the day in her room or with Malon and choosing to spend the nights out in the fields around Kakariko, alone as she watched the stars sparkle overhead. It had given her such a complete sense of peace; almost as though she felt herself a part of the world around her, a thread in an intricately constructed tapestry.

But then the dark thoughts would come, whispering at the edge of her consciousness. For the first time, she really tried to focus on the voice that plagued her - who was it? What did it want? Was it connected to the Cycle? Dizzying though her speculations were, no answers came to her. She didn't want to mention them to Malon, that was certain, and to discuss it with Link...well, that would mean she would have to bring herself to speak to him. That would mean that she'd have to truly acknowledge that this person was to be her killer, no matter how much she'd tried to keep that thought locked away, and that, more than likely, he'd killed others in the past, perhaps even those from her family.

Link himself, though, had been clearly happy to see her again. And, yet, even his face betrayed some sort of tension - guilt, perhaps? She couldn't tell. She didn't give him a chance to tell.

The time was drawing near. They'd chosen to spend a few days here in the Town to rest and buy supplies. Tonight, they had decided, was when they'd make the trek up to Death Mountain. Trepidation crawled through her veins as she thought about it. What if Link was wrong? What if there was no way to save her?

Shaking her head, Zelda decided that she needed to take a walk. Snuffing the solitary candle by her bed, she gingerly opened the door to her room, a soft click the only sound of her 'escape.' Peeking out, she saw a plate, now bare, laying on the carpet. She smiled. Zelda knew, with a twinge, that Link spent the night close to her door, wide awake. Sometimes she heard him shuffle, but he was careful to keep as quiet as possible. He would have denied it had she confronted him, but she knew she didn't have to. All that she did know was that, while she slept, she was perfectly safe.

Because of that, though, she would refuse to eat supper in the dining hall downstairs. She took her food to her room and then, making sure it looked as though she'd eaten her fill, left the leftovers outside her door, so that, as she would loudly proclaim in the morning, the serving girls would take them away. Little surprise, then, that when dawn's pale light did come, her plates still sat outside, but were now completely empty.

She hurried past the passageway that led to the stairs, praying that Link wouldn't be there, then she ran down the steps, one hand trailing the banister and collecting dust, the other smoothing down her tunic. The muffled sounds from the rest of the inn grew louder now, each voice becoming clearer and sharper.

Zelda passed a mirror on the way down, and saw her reflection for the first time in months. Hollow eyes stared back at her, golden hair now dull, and cheeks pinched. It could have been Death itself for all she knew. It would be good for her to get out in the sun again.

She wasn't quick enough. "Missy!" Malon called. "A late lunch for you, yes?"

Zelda turned to see the three of them at a table in the dining area; Link, his bandit friend, and the banditwoman. Her eyes firmly on the floor, she moved to join them, idly wondering what they'd been discussing before she'd arrived. Shame touched her cheeks - even if she had wanted to flee, she would have failed.

They ate in silence, Zelda staring intently at the warm meat. It was pink and tender, a spicy scent coating it. Zelda thought that she would be sick. She could feel Link's eyes upon her, but didn't raise her own to meet them. Forcing an indifferent expression on her face, she decided that she didn't want him - or any of them - to see her discomfort. They'd only take it as a sign to coddle her more. Pushing away from the table, she said, "I'm not hungry."

She'd hoped that her motion hadn't been too obvious, but the startled stares that she received told her otherwise.

Link slowly chewed his food. "At least sit with us," he said. There was a pleading tone in his voice, and Zelda both hated and loved him for it. "Are you sure you won't eat? The meat's good."

"Yes," she replied. "Everything's good when it's dead, right?" She closed her eyes instantly. What a stupid thing to have said. Slowly, she sank back into her chair.

There was silence for a heartbeat, only broken by the scrape of cutlery on plates. Then, Link spoke. "You must be tired. You seem to spend a lot of time sleeping."

The concern in his voice told her it wasn't a rebuke. "It's just all the travelling. It's good we stopped to rest here." Again she didn't want to reveal any sort of weakness. "And I'm not sleeping. I just...observe. It's an interesting town."

"Hey, missy," Malon said. "I hear there's some sort of festival just after sundown. Perhaps me and you could spend an hour there before we..." Her voice trailed off.

"We could all go." Link picked up the thread quickly. "It'd be nice to ease our minds."

They were trying, she knew. Trying a little too hard. Zelda felt a little suffocated; all this pity they were directing at her beginning to grate. Anger blistered within - why should Malon feel sorry for her anyway? She didn't know what Zelda had to do, what she had to give up. And yet, she couldn't help but feel a little touched. What insanity - a banditwoman who had tried to sell her, and an assassin who had sworn to murder her family; these were the people who now wanted to show her compassion.

"I don't think so, thank you," she replied. "I just...need some time alone. To prepare."

Link's response was too quick. "You should be with..." His jaw twitched, as though he'd just realised what words his lips were about to form. "...with _us_."

For the first time that day, Zelda glanced up at him, and then just as quickly looked away. She knew what he'd wanted to say. She just didn't know how to react to it.

As though sensing her discomfort, Link changed track. "I scouted ahead. There's a trail that leads up into the Crater, but it's guarded. I don't think they want anyone up there."

The other man, Gack or something, tore a roll of bread in two. "Yes, mister...that's why they usually put guards in a place."

Link's eyes narrowed, but Zelda saw the amusement in them. "I say we take the direct route. They won't be expecting us to do that."

He looked at her, but she glanced away. There was something eerily different about him. His posture, his speech, his manner - what had happened to change him so?

"That," Link's friend continued, "doesn't explain how we get past them."

The Hylian shrugged. "Just trust me."

Zelda thought she would have laughed, had she not caught the respect glowing in the bandit's eyes. She kept her lips shut tight. What had she missed in the time they were apart? Strangely finding her heart thudding, Zelda brushed the frost away from her soul, and plucked up the courage to ask. She'd barely opened her mouth, though, before Link had cut her off.

"The last time I saw the two of you," he said cautiously. "One of you had abducted the other."

So...he'd been wondering what _he'd _missed, too. Not wanting to admit to herself why, Zelda found herself feeling pleased at his attention. At least, the harsh coldness she'd seen in him before had a crack in it. Then again, she mused, he hardly seemed like such a cold person anymore. Hope flickered within. Perhaps the Bandit King had lied to her. Perhaps Link wasn't an assassin after all. But, as she had done ever since being reunited with him, her eyes dropped to the crossbow hanging from his belt. Her heart felt as though it were coated with lead as the solid reality of Hikirem's claims stared back at her.

Seeing Link search her face, waiting for an answer, Zelda again moved to reply, but yet again she was stopped.

"We're friends, mister." The blunt warning in Malon's tone was clear. Link, however, did nothing but nod.

Friends. That was an interesting way of phrasing it, Zelda thought.

"Yes," Link continued. "I'm sure. But she'll be safer with me."

Now what was going on? It was as though the very air between Link and Malon was crystalizing with ice. Why all this anger between them?

"With you, mister?" Malon said. "You're too young to even look after yourself."

While the banditwoman's face was stiff with some sort of suppressed resentment, Zelda had to admit that Link was looking far more at ease. His words, however, were not as carefully controlled.

"My age," he said, licking his lips, "didn't seem to bother you before."

"Well, it bothers me now. I think Zelda needs an experienced hand to protect her. Someone who's used to the world and all her tricks."

"The _Princess,_" Link said, "has a heart that won't be deceived by the corruption of the selfish ones."

Zelda frowned. Is that how he viewed her?

"Nice flowery words, mister," Malon taunted. "But it just proves my point, if you'd be listening carefully. The world isn't as simple as you're thinking, I'll assure you of that."

Zelda felt a knot of rage tighten in her heart. She was tiring of this. They were speaking about her as though she wasn't even present. Besides, she didn't need protecting. She'd done just fine living on her own wits for all these summers.

"Oh, I understand the world," Link continued. "I know that people only obsess over their own needs and wants, except for the time when they have to care about something or someone else - usually for ulterior moments."

"Right," Malon said, satisfied. "That's everyone's true nature."

Link's eyes sparkled. "I don't believe that."

Zelda frowned. He didn't?

"Oh no?" the banditwoman countered, irritation in her voice. "Well, it's_ my_ nature. And I'm not apologising for it."

"If it's your nature," Link said, looking all the while like a hunter who had just trapped some difficult prey. "Then why do you want to help her?"

Malon's reply was quick and laced with poison. "Because _you_ can't. And _she_ can't."

A sharp scold formed on Zelda's tongue, but yet again that day, something happened to stop her from speaking. This time it was a hand, belonging to a richly dressed man, which came to rest on her arm.

Link's mask of serenity dropped in an instant. The boy that she'd known before, dark and tense with anger, looked up with narrowed eyes. Zelda felt her heart freeze, becoming a hailstone of fear - she recalled how he'd once fought off a group of young men who had once become overly friendly to her at the beginning of their journey. She remembered the glazed look in his eyes then, the rage that fuelled his every strike. She hoped he wasn't going to repeat it here.

"Well, hello there," the man said, ignoring the others. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a small meal and a wee drink." He glanced down at her plate with distaste. "I assure you my tastes are a lot more...exotic...than what you're used to."

"I'm not interested," Zelda replied.

"Oh, but dear," the man replied, an easy smile on your face. "You misunderstand...I'm not asking for anything inappropriate. I couldn't help but overhear that you're a Princess." His eye twitched. "Though I must congratulate you on your wonderful disguise as a commoner. It's very...ethnic."

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't stop her cheeks from burning. This was ridiculous. She had never even lived a life of royalty, so what did this man's criticisms matter so much?

"What is it you want exactly?" she said.

"Ah...that's the crux of the matter, is it not?" he said, leaning closer. Out of the corner of her eye, Zelda saw Link's hands curl into fists. Her heart began to drum rapidly in response. "You see...we have a little dispute with some of the landowner's here in the Town. Seems as though they aren't willing to play fair in terms of sharing crops and livestock. Awfully dull, I know...it's just that...these people are a cowardly lot. They go weak at the sight of any authority...the One knows I tried to get the Town's council to intervene, but they're just as idle and selfish as any other man. It just seems I need someone with power to...ah...nudge the landowner's onto the right path." Seemingly, out of nowhere, a dagger flashed dangerously in his hand. "Even if I have to force them to."

Zelda's mind whirled. She saw Link's hand dropped to the crossbow at his waist, and she felt nausea wash over. Blood was going to spilt. There would be chaos, maybe death. She didn't want to see it...did she? Her head pounded with confusion.

Link glanced at her, a worried look passing over his face, then turned to the man. "I don't think you need to do that."

The man growled. "And why not? Don't interfere, boy."

The air grew tense, and Zelda found herself unable to breathe. This was going to be messy, she knew. Then, to her surprise, a gentle smile grew on Link's face, the darkness in his eyes evaporating, like mist pushed away by a spring breeze.

"It's you that's made a mistake," he said. "She's not _a_ princess. She's...ah..._my _princess." Link did his best impression of a sheepish look. "It's what I call her. Since she's my..." His eyes dropped to the table, his face bashful.

Humiliation and rage battling in the man's eyes, he hissed, turning away. "You should mind your words. Foolish talk from foolish people!" He made a noise of exasperation. "There are more important things in life than your fickle emotions."

This time Zelda did manage to pull away from the table. "I need some air."

Link jumped, as though he would move to stop her. "Someone should -"

"I don't need anybody." She regretted the heat that she'd put into those words, but knew she was not going to take them back. Spinning away, she made her way to the door, not wanting to look back at the others.

As she stepped out into the street, she realised that Link could have struck the man, or even worse damaged him in some in other way, but he had held himself back...for her. Once more she was reminded of how he'd beaten those men that had tried to bother her back at the first inn they'd stopped at - and this time she didn't feel fear. She felt the strange sourness in her heart that she'd done back then. The giddy sense that he truly cared for her welfare.

Blinking as she let everything around her wash over her, Zelda chided herself inwardly. Vain. That's all she was. Vain. Link hadn't done it for her - he had his own reasons. That was the truth, bare and simple.

Kakariko was famed for its production and trade of exotic perfumes, and the heady scents now wafted over to her, a sweet sting that almost made her eyes water. Musk, lavender and jasmine usurped the place of true air in this town. She wondered how long someone would have to live there to get used to it all. Her eyes trailed the stalls as she walked slowly on, most sold bottles of purple and green liquid, the shopkeepers flashing her with toothy grins.

She paused by the entertainers, long enough to make it clear that she'd noticed their performance, and long enough, too, to throw some coin in their direction. She herself knew how much of a deflating bite an unappreciative audience could be.

There were other products, too. Jewelry stalls, necklaces hanging on display, stood side by side with the perfume sellers, and Zelda stopped, letting the glittering beads roll through her fingers.

"You be wanting to buy that, missy?"

Zelda turned to the sound of the banditwoman's voice. "You followed me," she said simply.

"Well you can hide from your fairy boy," Malon said, "but not from me. We worry about you."

"I don't think so," the young Harkinian said with a laugh. "I'm just chattle to you."

Malon winced, and Zelda felt guilt touch her heart.

"You're not very forgiving are you, missy?" There was sadness in her voice.

"You never asked for any."

Malon sighed. "Do I have to? Let a girl have her pride, why don't you? I'm still here, if you be seeing clearly."

"That you are," Zelda replied. "Though I don't know why."

Her voice dropping, the banditwoman looked at Zelda with pain in her eyes. "Because, like the other boy, I don't have anything else." She swallowed. "I don't have anyone else."

Zelda's mouth sagged, regret pulling it down. "I'm sorry." She realised she truly was, despite all that the banditwoman had done. Admonishing herself for her own selfishness, she knew that she wasn't the only one to have received an unfair lot in life.

Malon was having none of it, however. "Don't you be feeling pity for me, missy," she said, her tone sharp. She turned back to the stalls. "Now...which of these would you be liking?"

"You don't have to do this, Malon," Zelda said, smiling. "I'm grateful, anyway." She felt her heart spike with a sudden surge of love. "Grateful to all three of you." She glanced at the necklaces, their golden forms slowly spinning in the breeze. They all appeared so horribly gaudy. "Besides, these look so..."

"Cheap?"

"Cheap." They laughed together, and Zelda felt some of the heaviness lift from her heart. Malon spoke again. "So, the fairy boy...he's not bad on the eyes, if you be getting my meaning."

Zelda tried to keep herself from smiling, but failed. "I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

Malon hissed, nudging her with an elbow. "That's not what I meant, missy, and you know it."

Silent for a moment, Zelda looked down, pondering. _Royal Assassin._ "There's more to a person than the outside," she said, glancing up. "No one has any control over the the way they look. But they do have control over the way they _are._"

Another silence hung between them as they walked on. With a sudden movement, Malon stopped, her eyes searching Zelda's face with a penetrating gaze. "You're right," she said. "And that's why people can change. Whatever it is he did to you in the past, it's clear to all now that with your fairy boy is a cut above the rest." She sniffed. "With all his fancy talk 'n' all. Not my type at all."

And with that, having made her point, Malon changed the conversation to other matters, leaving Zelda to privately muse over her words.

...

The remains of Death Mountain loomed over them, the trail that led into its depths like an open jaw, the steel barrier its teeth. Link, standing with Harlequin at a distance, watched the guards move to and fro, silver light occasionally catching their armour as the moon darted in and out of the clouds above.

A pair of heartbeats alerted him to the approach of the two women, and Link turned to them now, watching them draw near, their faces hooded, bundles of supplies swinging from their hands. Link felt his heart catch as his eyes narrowed in on Zelda. She looked so fragile now, so withdrawn; certainly not the same, energetic 'Sheik' he had met so long ago. Again, he felt that familiar gush of pure resolve flow through his soul; the unyielding notion that he was going to save her.

Fran was gone. Mystral was gone. Zelda was his life now, and he'd rather be damned to the infernal fire than let her die. And yet, even as he entertained those thoughts, he felt his connection to the One diminish just a notch, as though someone had muffled it with a blanket. The sensation puzzled him.

"How are you?" he said, as the two women drew level.

"I'll live,"Zelda replied. She frowned slightly. "Actually, perhaps I wo-"

"You'll live."

Her blue eyes locked with his for a moment, and Link couldn't quite tell what he could see there. Hope? Fear?

He turned to Malon. "Rope?"

"Right here, mister," she replied, pulling the cord from one of the bundles.

Link tied it to one of his arrows, then set the shaft into his crossbow. He sensed some wariness from Zelda and, glancing at her, saw that she was staring at his bow intently, a shadow over her face. Not understanding why, but knowing that he had more pressing things on his mind at the moment, Link aimed at an outcropping high above the barrier.

"Harlequin."

The bandit understood instantly, and scrambled towards him, then tied the other end of the rope to a tree stump nearby.

A puff of explosive powder and a burst of flame signified the ignition, and the arrow flew through the air, uncoiling the rope behind it. Squinting, Link saw the steel tip crack into the rock, then pulled on his crossbow until the line was taut. With a sharp tug, he tore his weapon free from the rope, leaving a tight cable leading from the stump up to the outcropping. He flicked at it to test the strength. It held.

Quickly, yet also carefully, Harlequin attached four curved hooks to the rope. They'd purchased them from a blacksmith in town, asked for a specific design so that they were large enough for their hands to curl around, and strong enough to hold their weight.

"Now what?" Malon asked. "How do we get up there?"

"Just hold on," Link replied. "The wind will push us up."

"The wind?" Her tone held a note of incredulity.

"Trust him, mistress," Harlequin said, nodding. "He can do it."

Even Zelda was looking at him with disbelieving eyes, but seeing no other choice, the four of them grasped onto the hooks, Link at the rear. Closing his eyes, he felt the familiar warmth of his connection to the One flood his heart, soothing like honeyed milk to a starving man. He breathed in and out, slowly, rhythmically. He smiled when Zelda gasped, the wind visibly coiling under their forms, scattering dust and tugging at the stump. They moved - slowly, but surely, the draft picking up, whistling in their ears.

Link let his eyelids open a crack. He saw the barrier pass under them, and almost laughed at the guards, insect-like in their appearance, still marching here and there, completely oblivious to their presence.

It didn't take them long to reach the outcropping. They jumped down to the trail, small rocks tumbling from their momentum.

Zelda stared at him, her eyes wide. "But-"

"Don't ask," he replied. "We don't have time. They might discover the rope, and if I'd cut it free, it would have fallen on top of them."

The trail curved upwards, the moon their only guide, revealing a surface coated with red rock, and blanketed with settled ash. Jagged stone walls hemmed them in, the path clearly not a natural formation. Soon cracks appeared, then fissures, venting steam with hissing breaths. Link felt the ground under his feet begin to heat up, saw the way ahead shimmer in his vision.

Zelda dropped back. "What do you think we'll find there?" she asked, her voice hushed.

"An answer," Link replied. His conviction was as solid as the mountain they stepped upon. "A way out." His eyes met hers. "Then we can all go home."

Curiosity shone on her face. "What makes you so sure?"

Link hesitated. He wanted to say that the One, Unseen would guide them, but didn't know how to put that into words without sounding foolish. She was clearly looking for physical answers, and not vague assurances. "Let's just see," he said instead. "All I know is that you deserve life."

She looked away, stricken. Again, Link sensed the shadow slowly curl around her heart. What had happened to her?

"I wish I had a weapon," she said. "Some way to defend myself."

"I don't think there will be anything there to harm us."

Zelda cocked her head to one side. "Still..." She pursed her lips for a moment, her thoughts turning inward. Her hand touched his, the skin cold. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to be dragged into this."

Link opened his mouth to reply, but yet again found nothing that wouldn't make him come across as a dimwitted young boy. How was she to know that she'd given his life a purpose again? That she'd been the catalyst for him finding the One?

He slowed down, a familiar sensation nudging him from within.

Zelda took notice. "What is it?" The others turned to him, the worry in her voice catching their attention.

Link looked up. "We're not alone." Turning, he peered back down the trail. He saw nothing. "Stay behind me."

Link could _feel _the knot of tension within Zelda. "I can help you," she said.

"Stay," he said, giving her a quick glance. "Please."

Nothing emerged from the path, and yet Link could clearly sense the heartbeat creeping towards them. There was light in it, but it was submerged, and at the moment all that bubbled within that heart was pure malice. Branches of crooked rock leaned over the trail, but still all was dark therein.

Link focused. It would have been silent, except that as he pushed with his heart, the world around him burst with life. The tiny shifts in the air were cavernous sighs, the scrape of boot on granite like a roar. But it was the reverberating beats of a quartet of hearts that rang , thudding, in Link's ears. Still no movement came. He could feel the energy coiled in his muscles, ready for release.

And through it all, at the corner of his consciousness, he kept Zelda in his mind's eye, tracking her movements. He wanted to make sure that he was between her and what was coming. Time slowed, the tension rolling off the others in waves. Closer the newcomer came, closer. Link's eyes thinned. He should be able to see him now...he should be right in front of-

Like the winking of a star, the steel tip of the arrow tore out of the darkness, chased by flame. Link froze, caught completely off-guard. "Drop!"

Hitting the ground hard, the young Hylian felt grit spit into his face. The world collapsed into a blur, his connection with the One momentarily shattering. _Zelda! _He couldn't sense her anymore, couldn't even turn to bring his eyes to her. He felt a weight lift from his waist.

Jerking his head up, Link saw Zelda ahead of him, his crossbow firing wildly in her hands. "Leave us be or die!" she spat.

He leapt to his feet, sensing the quick reactions of the enemy. Flinging himself against Zelda, Link pushed her roughly against the wall as the arrows flew into the space where'd they'd just been. Her eyes, lined with anger, glared into his face, and the former assassin almost was stunned to see the bloodlust that burned within.

"Why'd you stop me?" she cried. "I had him!"

Pinning her wrists to the craggy surface, Link couldn't contain his shock. What _had _happened to her? "Zelda..." Quickly regaining his bearings, he pushed her towards the other pair, making sure to pry his bow back from her fingers. "Keep going. I'll try and hold him off." A tingle touched his heart. "I know who it is. He only wants me."

His eyes followed them as they ran, then he too began to jog. A sudden burst of steam made him stumble, and Link had to dig his heel into the ground to stop himself from falling. Spinning, he swung around to face his unseen assailant, the geysers around him erupting with heated vapour.

Link held his ground, setting his weapon back on his belt. "Commander Kisho," he called. "We should talk." Sweat collected around his collar as the air continued to dance in glistening waves. No reply came. "For a single moment of indulgence," he continued. "For a single moment where you indulge your urgings for revenge...you're so willing to sacrifice what makes you truly alive? You're better than that."

A deep, throaty laugh floated from the shadows. "What life do I have now?"

"Whatever one you choose for yourself," Link insisted. "You don't have to live in the past. You can let go and rebuild."

There was a pause, then Kisho spoke: "Why'd you do it, Link?" Grief tore at his voice. "Why'd you kill Rivero and Jonah?"

Link stopped his throat from clenching, not wanting to betray even the least bit of regret. "Because they would have killed me first," he said. "It was you who betrayed me."

"They said you were a threat. You were a danger to the King."

"No, Commander," Link replied. Pinpointing the source of the heartbeat, he began to walk, his steps silent like a ghost. He floated from one cloud of steam to another, so that he'd remain invisible. Bonding with the One, his body blurred, moving at lightening speed. "I thought you were wiser than that."

"I do as I'm ordered."

Metal whispered, and the Master Sword was in Link's hand. "It wasn't the King. It was the Hylian Chief, Servion."

"What do you know of him?" Kisho replied and, though Link could hear the doubt in his voice, his heart was still blackened. Link knew that he wouldn't be swayed like Vannis Tor had been. He'd have to fight this one out. He wondered if all assassin's hearts, including his own, were this twisted.

"Corrupt to the core, sir," Link replied, reverting back to their old status. "He's a WOF, only good for the slaughter."

Kisho laughed, recognising the old assassin code. "A wily old fox," he said. "He is at that. What's your suggestion?"

Link could see him now, the assassin using the wall as cover, and holding his crossbow out in front of him. "Imprisonment. Banishment. Put him some place where he won't harm the people." He inched closer, tightening the grip on his sword.

"You just said he was good for the slaughter. Better to cut off the limb infested with gangrene than to let it fester."

"That would depend..." Link spun, twirling in front of the assassin. "...on how bad..." Swinging with the momentum, the Master Sword sliced through the crossbow, sparks flaring into the air. "...his crimes are." Like liquid, Link slid back into a hiding place, watching Kisho's eyes bulge.

Link spoke again. "Help me, sir. There's a girl. I need to deliver her to a special place. It's important."

Growling, the Commander stepped forward, his eyes darting left to right, his heart heated with rage. "Why should I believe you?"

There was no point, Link thought. Sadness bit into his heart as he realised that his old mentor was too blinded to see sense. "Because I've never lied to you before."

With a leap to set him off, Link ran, sheathing his sword as his boots almost slipped in the dirt. He heard Kisho set off in pursuit, _felt_ the arrows fly from the assassin's crossbow - he clearly carried a replacement - targeting only his limbs. Link jumped, his knees reaching his chin, and watched one of the spinning shafts speed through the air beneath him. He landed with a crouch then, with pain shooting through his legs, he set off again.

He didn't want to do this. He didn't want harm the man that had watched over him like a father. His connection to the One sagging, Link's trembling fingers unhooked his crossbow from his belt, and locked in a trio of arrows. He swallowed. Sometimes decisions like this would be placed before him - sometimes he would have to decide what truly was for the greatest good. Zelda had to be protected. Kisho was standing in the path of that aim.

His crossbow sang its deadly song as he flicked the switch, explosive powder turning black within a heartbeat. Heat radiated off it in waves, the steady hum growing louder and louder in Link's mind. _He couldn't do it. _Swinging his torso around, he tried to aim, but moonlight flooded his eyes, dazzling him. Distracted, and not wanting to fall, he fired anyway.

Link didn't even have to look twice to know that the arrow had gone astray. He heard Kisho's cry of triumph, and Link cursed, the weakness of his resolve, he knew, had let Zelda down. As though by divine intervention, the Hylian girl appeared up ahead, worried frowns across her, and her friends, faces.

His teeth bit down as his determination returned. Tapping into the One, he leapt, spinning around completely, and fired again. This time he joined the steel-tipped shaft with his heart, driving it along with his mind. He felt the wind caress the wood, saw Kisho loom larger and larger in his vision. He nudged it just an inch to the left. The arrow drove through cloth, then skin, then muscle, jamming tight into the assassin's shoulder. Link felt it all, sensed the shock that made Kisho recoil, felt the sudden loss of feeling in his legs that made him tumble to the ground.

Link landed, spraying up flints of rock from under his boots. Fatigue instantly ate at his body. Latching his weapon back onto his belt, he turned to the others. "Why aren't you-"

Then he saw it. A thin, stone bridge, unsupported by an pillars, stretched across a wide cavern below, connecting the trail to the Crater beyond. It wouldn't take long for Kisho to recover, he knew. And it would take them a while to cross the bridge. "Go," he whispered. "I'll deal with him here."

Zelda opened her mouth as though to protest, but Malon yanked her by the arm, leading her to the narrow overpass. They stepped onto it gingerly, and Link could hear Harlequin's frantic protests, but blotted them from his mind.

Kisho, pulling the arrow free with an anguished yell, stalked closer. Link stepped back, dust sliding under his feet, and edged closer to the bridge. Too much was squeezing his mind - his concern for Zelda and the others, his heart hammering in his chest, his regret that his friendship with the Commander would end like this. He tried to find the One, but failed. A hollow sensation in his chest told him that, this time, he was truly alone.

"Nowhere to go, Link," the assassin said, whispering. "I'll take my revenge here."

The young Hylian felt the narrow pathway under him. He glanced down, saw the dizzying gulf beneath, magma oozing on the ground far below with a fiery crimson glow, its breath catching on the air currents, turning them hot. "And then what?" he asked. "Then you'll be happy? Do you truly think so?"

"Quiet!" he snapped.

Link frowned as Kisho turned away, beckoning with his hand. Someone else was there. Had he been able to, Link would have detected his heart. But he was too tired...so very tired. His senses jolted awake as the person revealed himself. "_Servion!"_

The Chief grinned, his eyes dancing madly. His fingers played with two triangular pendants, dangling from chains around his neck. Link plucked a vague memory from his mind - the two, carved ornaments resembled the symbol of the Harkinians.

Servion swayed as he spoke. "A very valiant effort, I must say," the Hylian taunted. "But all for naught. It's over. You are going to die, and the girl is going to be mine."

Despair stung Link's soul, sinking deep into his heart and almost making him tremble. Desperately, he sought out Kisho, his eyes pulling away from his old mentor's bloodsoaked arm up to his blank face, . "Commander, listen...he's using you. It's a trick. What he's going to do will damn us all for eternity." His head swam, the smoke from below, stained with the stench of ash, seeping into his eyes and mouth.

Servion laughed. "Oh, don't worry about him, Link," he said, stepping in front of the assassin. "Like everyone else, he is under my command. Hylians, Calatians...it doesn't matter. I've been promised the world, you see. And now I'm here to collect."

Link turned back towards Zelda. He saw her, Malon and Harlequin, half-way across the bridge, leading each other slowly by the hand. How had this happened? All his confidence and faith evaporated, as though the heat itself had dried his heart out. He'd failed. He'd completely failed. Magma, slow moving and glowing scarlet, bubbled beneath, an impassive witness to the massacre that was sure to come. His heart now as heavy as the boulders that lay strewn across the arid landscape, Link turned back, licking his cracked lips and not knowing what else to say, except, "He's using you."

"I know." Link's eyes shot up to Kisho's. The assassin had his crossbow aimed at Servion's head, the Chief freezing in his tracks. "Didn't I just say I'd take my vengeance here? I think it's now clear who has truly been pushing the pieces in this little game."

Servion snarled. "Assassin. You're a fool."

Kisho glanced at Link. "Run...and I never want to see you ever again."

Nodding, his heart awash with pure relief, the young Hylian spun around and dashed across the bridge, his arms out wide to keep balance. Bracing himself, he thought that he'd hear the crack of the crossbow any second now. Any...second...now. It didn't come.

Daring to glance back, he saw black lightening pour out of Servion's pendants, curling around Kisho, and pouring into his mouth. The assassin screamed as he was lifted by unseen hands, struggled as he was held suspended above the ground, then thrown deep into the chasm. Link's heart lurched, shock spreading through his body, and well-nigh tripping as a result. He bit down, the swirling rift below almost rushing up to him, and steadied himself, panting. He didn't have time to grief, or even think, as he saw the Chief turn towards him.

Instantly, Link's crossbow was in his hand once more. He flipped the arrows into the thin grooves, and waited to hear the click that would tell him that they'd locked. It came and, instead of aiming for Servion, he pointed the weapon straight down at the bridge. Whatever power the Chief now commanded would clearly stop any incoming arrows. Link decided to rely on something a bit more familiar - whatever went up, had to surely come down.

Bursts of orange flame burnt into his vision as the arrows gouged into the rocky surface. Hairline fractures splintered across the bridge, a screeching creak echoing through the air. Looking up, Link saw that his friends had reached the other side. Spurring himself onwards, he ran, the muscles in his legs screaming. He heard the snap of rock breaking apart, then felt the bridge shudder. There was no need to look behind him. He knew it was crumbling to dust just from the vibrations.

Push, push, _push. _Every tendon in Link's body screamed with pain. His heart, too busy with its basic function of pumping blood, clutched at his connection with the One. He couldn't find it. Pain shot through his body, his jaw tightening as he sensed what was happening behind him. He could sense _that,_ his panic driven mind cried, but why couldn't he sense the One? He tried again, desperate, yet, like flint repeatedly struck against steel, he couldn't find the spark.

"Link!" Zelda screamed, her mouth dropping open. It was tumbling too fast, a cloud of dust mushrooming behind him rapidly. He felt air touch his heels, knew then that he wasn't going to make it and -

- he blanked his mind, shedding everything from his soul, dropping all the weight from his body. The calm centre of his heart expanded and the world turned white. A gust of wind pushed up under his arms, dragging him into the air. He rolled, sensing the bridge dissipate beneath him, like sugar in water. Gently controlling the breeze with his mind, he floated over the yawning abyss. Solid rock touched his boots and he opened his eyes, greeted by the sight of the shocked expressions on his friends' faces.

Ignoring them, he turned around, his eyes searching through the veil of ash and soot. Servion was nowhere to be seen. He would've felt satisfied had he not sensed the smallest murmur of a faint heartbeat, an irritating itch to his heightened senses.

...

Vegetation grew high up on Death Mountain, brown grass sprouting under trees with copper-coloured leaves. They reached the tip by noon the next day, then descended into the crater proper, the strange forest growing more dense here. They walked on in silence, broken only by necessity. Link knew Zelda was burning to ask him about what had just occurred. He was glad. He'd thought that she no longer wanted to talk to him. There just didn't seem to be the time just yet, and certainly not in front of the two bandits.

He wouldn't know quite what to say, either. His bond with the One had been restored at the very last moment, though he wasn't sure exactly why. He supposed that, faced with death, it had been easier for him to lose all sense of his ego. And besides that, he was troubled. Why had Zelda seemed to eager to kill? He almost shivered as the memory came back to him. A sharp flash of gold pulled him out of his musings.

He heard Malon gasp and Harlequin swear. A sob, instinctive and guttural, flew from Zelda's lips.

"Missy!" the banditwoman cried, rushing over to her. "What's wrong?"

Struggling to control the expression on her face, Zelda pushed her away violently. "Nothing." Her voice regained its composure. "I'm fine."

Link, his heart churning with a mixture of emotions, looked from the girl to the newly revealed City of Gold, standing atop a granite hill, half-hidden, but still gleaming. He let out a breath. "We need to rest." He looked at the others. "Tonight, we camp here."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Rain fell, large drops that plopped to the ground, sending up spray, turning the earth around them to mud. The Golden City, its walls and turrets collapsed and wrapped in thick vines, stood above them like an unforgiving sentinel. They couldn't bring themselves to look it at. If they did that, they'd have to acknowledge its presence, have to come to terms with the reality that faced them.

Harlequin and Malon slept, turning fitfully this way and that, makeshift sheets twisted around their torsos. Lightning snatched away the darkness for a precious few heartbeats, then the angry groan of thunder followed. The wind ran through their little clearing, making their supplies ring and tremble, and pulling at their fire, the flames dancing and billowing.

Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, moss and lichen a blanket over dead wood, Link watched, his heart bubbling. He couldn't think. He couldn't focus. So much preyed on his mind that he thought that even sleep would provide no release, that the thorns of his musings would pierce even his dreams. His squadron were gone, each member bar himself a cold corpse. It was almost unthinkable. Two of them had died at his hands, and the last, only a day or so ago, the memory fresh in his mind, had been slaughtered by Servion.

Commander Kisho's sacrifice had surprised him. Link hadn't detected one hint of the light that would crack through the darkness at the very end of the Commander's life. People, he mused, could still catch him off-guard, no matter how confident he was in his new-found abilities.

Link wondered why so many people, himself included at one point, gave themselves up to the urge for vengeance. Perhaps it was because the ego, unable to see beyond its own self, set itself up as a 'god'; that is, it thought of itself as the center of the universe and so, whenever it was slighted or didn't get what it wanted, it found the situation unbearable, and hence, in order to restore what it thought was 'balance,' it struck back at those that had dared to confront it. It just couldn't accept that it only made up a tiny part of the world, and its concerns and individual needs were somewhat petty in the wider scheme of things. Perhaps.

How had he come to this? It had only been a few short months ago when he was secure in his world. Mystral, taking the Test - everything had been so neat and organised. And now, here he was, having seen and experienced things that were beyond his wildest imaginations. Glancing up at the City, he knew, too, that his eyes had rested upon more than his fair share of the world outside.

Ahead of him Zelda worked, her eyes cast down as she tried to tie down their belongings. He'd offered to help more than once, but she'd warned him off with sharp words. He watched her, though he knew it was improper behaviour, and something warm tingled deep within his chest. Her movements were smooth and lithe, her every motion imbued with sophisticated grace. She was definitely royalty. Her hair fluttered as the rain came down, her face now covered with a smooth sheen that gave her an innocent look. And yet she seemed so very tired. Link's heart tightened.

"Stop looking at me."

A smile came to his lips, though she hadn't yet turned to face him, still busying herself with her task. Idly, Link noted that she'd tied the same rope four times over now. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure." This time there was a smile in her voice, if not on her face.

He tried to reach out with his heart, to _push_ and find a shared connection, though, curiously, he found the way blocked. Link had expected her soul to be a crystalline mirror in its purity, reflecting only goodness. He was somewhat disturbed to find the shadows lurking there, dormant beneath the surface of her soul.

The rain continued to fall, tapping against the trees and the ground with a steady rhythm. Link wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, then realised that Zelda herself was unprotected. "Are you cold?"

"No," she replied. This time she faced him, a fleeting glance, before turning away.

He began to stand. "Are you sure? You can take my -"

"Sit _down_, Link." Her voice was strong and steady. "I'm not cold." Again, another glance. "Thank you."

He gestured at the two bandits. "They're asleep."

"I know." There was no mockery in her tone. "Poor Malon. She's been dragged into something she doesn't even understand."

Peering through the rain, Link looked at the banditwoman with a detached sense of curiosity. "Didn't she kidnap you?"

"Yes." Zelda was grinning now, and this, in turn, made Link smile.

"And...didn't she want to sell you to slavers?"

A giggle escaped Zelda's lips. It made Link's heart leap. "That's true, too." Rolling up her sleeve, Link saw, with dismay, the tattoo of a bondswoman burnt into her skin. "She almost succeeded."

Icy self control extinguished the fire of anger that had just then threatened to engulf him. "So, why do you feel sorry for her and why are you her friend?" He didn't really care about the answer. To him, all it told him was that Zelda was far purer than he could ever imagine. There was no vengeance in her, no taint of evil.

"I don't know, really," she replied. "We'd just been through a lot together." She gazed at the banditwoman for a moment longer. "And your friend? Harlequin Lack?"

"Jack."

"Jack," she repeated slowly, as though testing out the new name. "Who is he?"

"I picked him up at the Bandit Camp, too," he replied. "He's a good friend."

"Unlike me," Zelda teased.

Link's tone took an extra edge of seriousness. "You are a good friend." He paused, considering. "Actually, you're probably my best friend."

"Oh, stop," she replied with a snort. "I've never done anything for you."

"You don't know," he said quickly. "You don't know how much you did."

Zelda shook her head. "You only met me a few months ago, and now I'm your best friend." Looking a little uncomfortable, she found her attention drawn back to her tasks once more. A barrier of silence rose between them.

Link opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, then again changed his mind. "I wanted us to talk."

"What about?" She had her back to him now, her head low as though she were scanning the ground.

"Just."

A sigh escaped her lips. Confusion whirled slowly around Link's mind. When had this wall been erected between them? He decided he'd better go straight to the point. "You were right." A pause. "You were right about everything."

Zelda turned to him, a pained expression on her face. Her eyes were large, and within them swam sadness. "I don't understand."

Taking in a deep breath, Link steadied himself. "Right about _everything._" Seeing the puzzled expression on her face, he quoted her words back at her, the words that she'd spoken to him on the rooftops of Hyrule Town. "'Why would you want to kill anything for?" Her forehead creased with more confusion. "I meant...that's what you..." He coughed, clearing his throat. He wasn't making much sense. "You were right. You were right telling me that killing is wrong. You were right telling me that my afflictions were not the worst in the world, that others suffered, too, that I shouldn't be just obsessed with my own worries and problems." He paused to catch his breath. "You said we had to purify our hearts. Your heart is already pure." He smiled, trying to soften his own embarrassment. "It took a while for me to do the same to mine."

He was caught off-guard by her reaction. Pain and guilt washed over Zelda's face, fear igniting in her eyes. Her voice was soft as she spoke. "You believe that now?"

"Thanks to you, yes."

She held his gaze, the rain blurring his vision. "Maybe I was wrong."

"No," Link replied. He wanted to say more, but could think of nothing except a simple: "You weren't."

"You don't know me, Link."

Again, the same old excuse. He wasn't going to accept it this time. "But I _want_ to know you. I want to know everything about you. What makes you happy and what makes you sad, what makes you smile and what makes you laugh. For the first time ever, I truly realise what it means to be alive, and I don't want to let go of that."

He leapt to his feet, startling Zelda in the process. "Listen...just listen." She seemed willing to, though Link noticed that she'd taken a few wary steps back. "I've seen people who would trample over children just to satisfy their sick lusts. By the Pit, I've seen people who _use _children to satisfy their lusts. I've seen the worst that this world has brought forth...people who worship themselves so much that they don't see anyone else as anything more than pawns to be used. I've seen people who preach righteousness, but practice the worst of deeds." He was almost in front of her now, gazing down at her face. Lightning stained the sky, reflecting in her eyes. "But _you..." _His voice softened as he gained control of himself. "You _believed. _You _believed _in the goodness of everyone. That's all I'd ever wanted to see from anyone." He swallowed, his throat now aching. "Genuine honesty. Genuine goodness. And you, Zelda...you're all that....and brave...and resourceful....and...." He stumbled, grasping to put into words the churning he felt inside. "You shame me so much that I wish I _were_ you." He could feel himself trembling. "And if I couldn't be you, then...then I'd want you in my life till the end...just so...so..." He trailed off, lost.

His throat was raw from his anguished words, his breathing heavy. It was, he knew, the most ridiculous speech he'd made in his life and yet, though he'd probably never repeat the words ever again, even to Zelda, at that moment in time, it felt like the right thing to say. He could even feel a slight heat in his cheeks. Here was Link, trained killer and Boneyard Warrior, and he was blushing!

Zelda , it seemed, saw it, too. "If anyone else had said all that," she said, "I'd have laughed at him. But you..." Her mouth tugged downwards in a sad smile, her eyes filling with tears. And then it all vanished, replaced by something else. Something harder. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Royal Assassin?"

Link almost flinched. Her voice was empty, hollow, but it cut into his heart. His mind tried to form an answer, but everything that came to him sounded trite. He went with the truth instead. "Because you'd hate me."

Anger twisted her features. "So?"

"I didn't want you to hate me." Now his voice was stretched, the emotion thick, but not easy to identify. "Not you." He took another deep breath. "I'd lost my sister. I'd lost my friends. You were the only thing real to me...you made me see my life for what it was, and made me want to be a better person. If not for you, I wouldn't be a Boneyard Warrior now."

The expression on Zelda's face twirled like the spinning of a coin between two fingers. Hate melted into pain, which collapsed into sadness, then sprung into shock. "You're a....?" She shook her head, the anger reasserting itself. "Did you kill any of them?"

"Any of who?"

"_Did you kill any of them?"_

Finally Link understood. "I didn't kill anyone from your family, Zelda."

"Liar!"

The accusation, jolting him like the sudden crack of a crossbow, pierced his heart. Link thought he would drown from the sadness that now engulfed him. "No." His voice was little higher than a whisper. "I wouldn't lie to you."

Zelda was shaking now, and he longed to reach out for her, but didn't dare to. He could see the conflict playing out on her face, could sense her heart tearing in many different directions. She fixed him with a determined stare. "I want to believe you," she said, her voice pleading.

"Then do so," he replied. "I never chose to be an assassin."

She shook her head in response. "How could you not choose...? You just had to refuse!"

"It's not as simple as that," he said, Mystral's face ghosting into his mind.

"How many people did you kill?"

Again, Link felt his soul crack. She would loathe him forever now. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it would make what was to come easier. "A few."

He wasn't expecting her next words. "I killed someone, too," she said. "I threw a knife into his heart. His blood..." Her head shook slowly from side to side as though not believing her own words. "His blood..._poured_ out."

The rain intensified as the silence held between them. Now Link knew what the darkness was that he'd sensed. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault," he said softly. "I'm sure you were acting-"

Zelda cut him off with an tortured moan. "No, Link. I could have wounded him. I killed him. I _wanted _to. I _enjoyed _it. I remembered who and what you were." Defiance rose in her voice. "I thought you'd approve."

Closing his eyes, Link let the words sink in. Another crime to add to his list.

A trio of heartbeats passed, the drumming of the water the only sound.

"I'm sorry," Zelda said at last. "That wasn't fair."

Link ignored her, choosing instead to prod at his own pain. This had been a disastrous night. Nothing had gone right at all. He pushed with his heart, connecting to hers, searching, searching. He knew he shouldn't, that drilling so deep into her soul was a violation, but he couldn't help it. He had to know. His eyes opened. "You didn't enjoy it," he said finally. Something lifted from his soul. He hadn't realised until then just how much he had been dreading what he'd find in Zelda's heart. "You hated yourself for it."

"You don't know that," she replied. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her face lost in thought. "I deserve to die, don't I? It's because I'm evil; that's why the One, Unseen has chosen to punish me like this."

"Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?" he replied. "You're not evil."

Zelda threw up her hands in exasperation. "But everybody else is." She shook her head. "No...it's you that were right. You said it yourself - you've seen the horrid things people do. Why should they live when they waste themselves so easily?"

"Because." Link cleared his throat as he tried to arrange his thoughts. "Because everyone has the potential to better themselves, to rise above their own selves. They should be allowed the chance to realise that."

"Even when most don't? Even when they cause so much pain when they fail?"

"Even then." He tried to recall the Teacher's words. "We..._you_ have to be an example. Others will see you as a beacon, and will be drawn to you. All we know is that we're here, all of us, now at this moment. It would be foolish to wipe everyone out because they failed. We have to make do with the world as we find it, and make sure that our own selves are in order."

"You've changed." Grief coated her words. "I wish I'd been there to see it. I think I would have felt so proud."

Unbidden, a smile touched his face, her words bringing warmth to his soul, briefly melting away his distress.

She continued. "You make me want to believe again."

Link sighed. "You do believe. You've just lost faith in..."

"The world?"

"I don't know. You're doubting yourself when you shouldn't."

"I don't want to die, Link." The words came out calmly, no desperation clinging to them, just stated as fact. It was the first time, he knew, that she'd shown any hint of weakness. And yet...there she was, her voice still steady, her back straight.

Hearing no response, she went on. "I'm not a hero. I'm not strong."

Link almost gaped. Why couldn't she see how unlike she was to anyone else he'd ever met? A normal person would have wilted, broken by the burden on their back.

Her eyes wouldn't meet his as she said, "I don't want the world to suffer either...but I don't want to die."

Yet again that night, Link felt his heart cleave in two. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn't give in to the impulses of her ego, that saving other lives was more important than her own, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do so, the words dying on his lips. It all sounded so hollow now. What if the Teacher had been wrong? What if he himself was wrong? And what did it matter, anyway? He was going to save her, after all.

"Look at me," Zelda continued, as though reading his thoughts. _Now, _at long last, there was a quiver to her voice. Link didn't want to see it. He didn't want to see her unravel in front of his eyes. "I'm selfish. _I'm selfish. _I don't want to die so that the world can live. I want to hide away and be me." Tears rolled down her face, her cheeks pinched, her eyes taking on a haunted glaze.

Link found himself clenching and unclenching his fists. "You're not going to die," he whispered.

Zelda laughed, half-maniacal, half-in disdain. "And who's going to stop it from happening?" she spat. "You?"

Deadly certainty entered his voice. "Yes."

They stared at each other, blinking as rain poured down their faces. Lightning and thunder whirled around them.

"You're not going to die," he repeated. "At least not by my hands."

Zelda's mouth twitched, a small smile trying to form on her lips. "Confident."

"It's true."

She speared him with a glare, the intensity of which was almost like a physical blow, her mirth suddenly evaporating as a wild look ignited in her eyes. "Promise me."

His hand fell to the Oath Blade. He took it seriously, especially now that he'd dedicated himself to the One. A broken oath could only lead to the direst of consequences. "I already did."

Her eyes glanced from the blade to his face. "Promise me...please."

Link thought his very being would crumble. He gazed back at her, saw the tightness in her face. It was too much. He didn't want her to suffer, let alone die. "I promise you."

Visibly relaxing, Zelda began to shake. Alarmed, Link ran towards her, but she spun away, shrugging him off. "I don't want to die," she repeated, as though it were a mantra. Their eyes met, and Zelda's voice trailed off into a whisper. "I don't want to die. Is that wrong?"

"No, it's not wrong." He stepped towards her once again, his gaze still fixed on her, noticing how her hair stuck to her face from the rain. The water fell in torrents, soaking them to the skin. Incandescent blue flashes danced in their eyes. Thunder punctured the silence."Smile for me, Zelda."

At first she just stared, and then her eyes dropped to the ground, as though she felt a little bashful but, to Link's delight, a smile did spread across her face. "Who are you..?" she asked.

Link held out his hands in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Who are you that you have such an effect on me?"

For a reason he couldn't quite understand, Link found his soul soaring at those words. "I have an effect on you?"

Still grinning, Zelda nodded. "I'm smiling, aren't I?"

Heartened by the exchange, Link's hands curled into fists, determination stiffening his soul. "When this is all over, you'll still be smiling."

A slight frown flickered over Zelda's features, then vanished, though her eyes seemed to turn inward for a moment. "I hope so, Link," she said softly. "I hope so." She looked up again. "So who are you, Link...you with no family name...assassin...Boneyard Warrior...who are you?"

He smiled back. "Your friend. Your protector." He saw her open her mouth to speak, no doubt wanting to protest, but she stopped, a sad expression ghosting across her face. "Maybe even one day...your best friend."

She turned towards the City of Gold, silent, though Link could see her swallowing; she was clearly fighting back some sort of emotion. "Maybe."

Link walked up beside her, also turning to face the City. They stood there together, the storm swirling around them, lost in their own thoughts. Glancing at each other once more, another smile lining their faces, their eyes locked, each seeing the understanding and trust in the other. Link looked back at the City. "This is the end."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Darkness, mimicking the greasy blackness of a dense flock of ravens, visited the skies of Greater Calatia, bearing gifts of lightning, thunder and rain, and swirling towards a point high above Castle Dragmire. Bolts of crackling blue energy sizzled through the atmosphere, striking people and buildings at random, and sending all into a frenzied panic. Old women sobbed, wailing as they proclaimed that the end of time had come.

Within the castle itself, chaos reigned. The Princess, possessed by a power that they could not understand, stood in the centre of the Great Hall, the Twins now her obedient lackeys, deflecting every blow that the King, Impa and Fran tried to throw at her. Mystral watched, heart in her throat, as the Hylian hunter balanced himself upon a chunk of rubble, fallen from the ceiling, then, swiftly, in one fluid motion, Fran reached back, pulled free an arrow from his quiver, locked it into his bow, aimed and released.

Mystral's eyes chased the flying projectile, her chest caught in a vice of hope, praying that this would be the strike that ended it all. The arrow, much alike her vain desire, crumbled to dust as the Princess' dark energy repulsed it.

Impa and the King charged, their blades flashing, but the Twins stepped in, blocking the attack with their own weapons, metal ringing upon metal.

"_Fools!_" the Princess spat. "_You're wasting your time. I've already won._"

"You haven't won," the King panted, his tunic torn, and his eyes bloodshot. He shifted his sword from one hand to another. "You haven't won until I die. I'm the ruler of this land, and I am its sworn protector."

The Princess' head swivelled around to regard him, the scarlet glow from her eyes trailing in the air. "_Protector? You betray your own legacy, Dragmire! You, and all from your family, were born to conquer and destroy._"

"You're insane," Montero spat, his teeth clenched. "You can't rule over something you've destroyed."

_"Ah, my dear boy. That's the beauty of it. What else can bring such sweetness to the soul than the sight of having crushed all other living things under your foot? It's an acquired taste, for certain, but it is the most delicious of them all." She motioned at the Twins with her head. "__And besides...soon, my power will be complete. Then you will see how much I've been toying with you."_

She motioned at the Twins with her head. "

The Twins swung their weapons, forcing the King and Impa into a defensive stance. Fluid parries followed fierce thrusts, but still the duo couldn't find a way through. The Princess watched impassively as the Twins pushed the attackers further and further away from her.

Mystral's eyes locked with Fran's as he returned to her. "This is the Princess you talked about?" she asked, bewildered. "This is our saviour?"

Pursing his lips, Fran face took on a grim mask. "I don't know what this is, lassie," he said, his tone despondent. "All I know is that it's stolen Zelda's body. All I know is that it has to be stopped. Here. Today."

She clutched at his sleeve. "Give me a weapon, Fran," she said. "Let me fight. I don't want to hide in some corner and whimper. If I'm going to die, I want to do so with the knowledge that at least I tried." She could imagine her own face in his eyes, pleading and desperate, and she cursed herself for it. Her parents had died, her society had shunned her for being a spinster, but she'd survived. Not only that, but she'd managed to bring up her baby brother and safeguard his welfare, despite all the odds being firmly set against her. "Let me fight. For me. For Link."

Fran's looked doubtful, though he clearly had little time to make a decision, his eyes darting from her face back to the fray constantly. "I don't know, lassie. I couldn't bear losing you, too."

A small smile touched her face. At least she was important to someone. "Then give me the chance to show that I can stand with all of you. That's all I ask for..._a chance._"

Reluctantly, Fran pulled a dagger free from his belt. "Here," he said, his voice sad. "But stay back. Don't engage them unless they attack you first."

Nodding, Mystral took the weapon, her eyes wide and her throat tight. It felt cold and heavy in her hands. Such a little thing, she mused, could end an entire life. Her legs shook as she stood, a metallic tang coating her tongue.

Fran touched her lightly on the hand. "You're a brave little one."

Her fists clenched, Mystral stepped forward. Whatever had taken Link from her was going to suffer. Her poor, little brother - she didn't even know whether he was even alive. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. And she was sick and tired of being pushed aside, having no control over the events that tore her life apart.

She gasped as the Princess twisted around to fix her with a stare. A heartbeat passed. Then a maniacal grin split the woman's face into a grotesque mask. "_It's the sisssterrrr."_

Mystral went numb. The dagger dangled loosely from her fingers, ready to drop at a moment's notice. This _thing_ knew her. Knew Link, too, clearly.

Springing forward, her body seemingly energized by a renewed purpose, The Princess bore down on her. Mystral shrank back, feeling Fran's touch on her shoulder. It comforted her, boosted her spirits. A sudden spike of determination, mixed with molten anger, coursed through her soul. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her weapon. "Yes, I'm his sister. I'm the one that fed him, clothed him, and raised him. And, by the One Himself, if you've hurt him, I'll slit your throat."

It worked. The violence in Mystral's words made the creature pause for just an instant. Even she herself was surprised at what she said, but she was ready to live - or die- by her words.

"_I tire of this,_" the Princess-creature spat. She seemed to grow larger, looming in their sight. "_I only wish he here to see what I'm going to do to his beloved sister. The look on his face would have been enough sweetness to last me a millennia."_

An icy finger of fear touched the small of Mystral's back, then slowly crept upwards, encasing her heart and mind. She heard Fran shuffle behind.

"Don't listen, lassie," the Hylian hunter murmured. "I'm here. You're brave. Remember, you're always have been."

"I know," she whispered. But she also knew, in the deepest recess of her heart, that she would never see Link again. The Princess raised her arms, a wide, slow arc, black lightening crackling between her hands. Mystral tensed, sensing Fran do the same behind her. All of a sudden her dagger looked so small and useless. Like a child's toy. There was no escape this day. There was only blood, memories, and the slow unravelling of history. She closed her eyes. "I love you, Link."

Like an unholy scream, a wave of dark, rolling energy burst out from the Princess' hands. It swept through the room, mimicking a ferocious river after the breaking of a dam. Walls cracked, then shattered. Torches split, collapsing into splinters. The floor shook, tearing apart.

Fran leapt in front of Mystral, a desperate lunge that led nowhere as he was flung aside like a doll. The lightening hit Mystral full force, throwing her into the air, where she hung suspended as more and more of the darkness pumped into her. Her veins felt as though they'd been set on fire. Her blood felt as though it had been brought to the boil. All of the others now turned to the spectacle in the centre of the Hall, the stench of burning flesh making their eyes sting.

Mystral lost all sense of her own self - all her memories, thoughts, affections and dreams evaporating. All that she knew now was pain. The dagger dropping from her hand, she threw back her head and screamed.

The Princess continued to grin her twisted grin. Light danced in her crimson eyes, a drop of saliva slowly rolling from the corner of her mouth. "_When will you realise that I've planned too long for me to fail this time. When will you realise that-"_

...

- _all hope died long before any of you were born._

The voice curled around Zelda's face as though it were a dark hard, squeezing, squeezing, her cheekbones cracking with a splintering pain. Suffocated she felt, as though she had swallowed hot, thick, black mucus, clinging to her tongue, weighing it down. A laugh boomed through her head, making her bones vibrate. She wanted to scream, but could do nothing but gurgle pathetically. She whimpered.

Zelda's eyes shot open. She was dismayed to find that the darkness had only lifted a notch, the storm that had come upon them the previous night still fresh in the sky, angry with thunder and spitting lightening. She tried to steady her heart, stop it from juddering, as though it wanted to burst free. She found that she was standing, her friends, oblivious to what had just befallen her, arguing amongst themselves as they stood around her. How long had she drifted away?

Concentrating on what was familiar to her, she tried to make sense of the noises that floated towards her. Voices. Her friends' voices.

"You," Link was saying, beckoning at Malon and Harlequin, "are both staying here. And that's final."

The banditwoman crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes gleaming. "Look at this weather, mister," she said. "It's not safe to be outside."

"You'll be safer out here than in there," he replied, thrusting a thumb in the direction of the City.

Malon's eyes traced the contours of the fallen buildings. "It sure is a pretty place," she mumbled, distracted.

"What will we do out here?" Jack asked.

"Just stay out of sight," Link replied. "And wait for me...for _both_ of us to come back. If all goes well, then we can tell you both what this was all about."

Malon caught him with a puzzled look. "And if all doesn't go well?"

Link paused, looking up to match her gaze. "Then it won't really matter, will it?"

Jack, his face now a mask of fear, stepped forward nervously. "Why do we have to stay out of sight?"

Link held him with a stare, before his eyes swept out up to the rim of the crater. "Just in case." His gaze dropped to Zelda's face. A hint of a smile danced on his face. "Let's go."

"I don't like it," the banditwoman said, scorn lacing her voice. "We're the elders...but you children put yourselves into danger."

The breeze made Link's hair flutter, spots of rain dropping onto his forehead. "We're not children. And this concerns only us."

Zelda stepped up to Malon, looked earnestly into her face, and curled her hand around the banditwoman's own. "I just want to say," she whispered, "that despite everything that's happened, I want to thank you. I hope you'll have a happier life from now."

A confused frown fell across Malon's features. "What're you saying, missy?" she said, her voice also quiet. "You'll be coming back, right?"

Zelda felt her heart twist in pain, but let a smile touch her lips. "Of course." She had to force the words out, controlling her throat so that they would sound natural. "It's just...it's just you said I hadn't forgiven you." Her eyes peered into Malon's. "Well, I do. I forgive you."

Not wishing to let the conversation continue, Zelda dropped her hand, then turned to Link with a nod. "Yes, let's go."

They scrambled up the dirt path that led to the remains of the City, not once looking back at their friends. The gold didn't gleam, dirt and insects covering it with a dull sheen, and the City, now completely abandoned to the elements, looked more like a castle collapsed after a fierce battle. It wasn't even that big a place, Zelda thought.

_I forgive you! How pathetic. You should have killed the harlot when you had the chance. But don't worry...I'll do it for you. I'm having such fun back in Hyrule City, too. Soon, I'll come join you here. So much to do...and only two bodies to play with!_

Zelda's heart thudded, a film of sweat breaking all over her body as the voice collapsed into laughter. A rush of nausea shot into her mind, but she bit down, pushing it away, far away. It took all her strength to keep herself from trembling. She'd tell Link, Zelda promised herself. As soon as this was over, she'd tell him.

At the moment, however, she didn't want to hear the voice anymore. Didn't even want to think about it. "Link," she said, and it felt good to her to hear a voice that wasn't tainted with darkness. "Why do you think anyone would build such a place?"

Link ducked under a broken arch, collapsed from disuse, then led her into the main chamber. "Vanity," he said, his voice echoing. "Someone became rich and wanted to make a show of it."

Their boots left prints in the layer of gold dust settled on the floor. Zelda gazed around, marvelling at the scene. Mildew coated everything here, and the air tasted dank, so little of it having come from outside. There was no furniture here, no carpets or curtains. Aside from the gold, it would have seemed such a barren place. The walls, however, were not bare; indiscernible pictures having been formed from the precious metal, molded into shape by careful, skilled hands.

"Now...hmmm..." Link looked around, thinking. "See..." He pointed. "There's your problem. There's only one door through to the next chamber. But it's clearly locked."

Leaning forward on her toes, the soles of her feet stretching, Zelda squinted. Standing atop a short flight of stairs, the door ahead was indeed locked, a massive slab of gold blocking the passageway, cobwebs trailing from top to bottom. Gold plates had been hammered over the keyhole. "There's an etching. Of a torch."

Link gestured with arm, his hand pointing left and right. "And two unlit torches either side."

Understanding dawned in Zelda's heart. "We light the torches and the door opens?" She frowned. "Why would anyone build such a ridiculous system?"

Shrugging, Link smiled. "Well, the Black Sword is in here somewhere. They probably wanted to make sure that only the right people got to it."

Still Zelda wasn't satisfied. "But they made it so clear...with the picture."

There was a pause, before Link said quietly, "I think we're the only ones who can see it."

"What makes you so sure?" she asked. "And how do we light the torches?"

"Leave that to me."

The young Hylian closed his eyes, head bowed as his cloak trailed the floor, picking up sparkling dirt. Zelda cocked her head to one side, confused, but curious. She would have asked him what he was doing, but felt now was not a good time. Her skin tingled, though, and she felt the temperature rise.

With a pair of loud pops, the two torches came alight, and the door flew upwards with a groan, a puff of sunlight-tinged dust blowing outwards. Zelda gasped, almost jumping with surprise. She stared at Link. "How did you...?"

"No time," he replied, grasping her wrist and pulling her forward. "We need to move."

Zelda dug her heels into the ground. "Wait, wait, wait," she said. "Not until you tell me how you did that. And how you jumped from the bridge before. And how you made the wind push us up the rope outside the trail."

He paused, throwing her an awkward glance as different emotions struggled on his face. He looked very much like the confused young boy she'd met so long ago. "If I said 'faith', would you believe me?"

She looked at him cautiously. "No."

"Good," he said, pulling away from her. "Let's move...the sooner we get this done with, the sooner we can all go home."

Sighing, Zelda let it go. It was just another thing that she would have to deal with as soon as she was free from this burden.

They ran up the stairs, their boots clapping on the steps, pausing briefly to glance at the door above, then stepped through the open passageway. With an urgent shout Link flung out his arm, forcing Zelda to stop. A deep pit loomed in front of them, grimy black, with waves of heat pushing into their faces. Below they saw the faint glimmer of glowing magma.

"They certainly don't like visitors," Zelda said, her voice soft. "How do we get through this?" She glanced at him. "Or can you fly, too?"

Ignoring her, the young Hylian scanned the area, his eyes darting upwards. He rubbed his chin.

Zelda, too, gazed around, looking for some tell-tale sign, another clue that would unlock the path ahead. Perhaps another etching, or something hidden, needing piercing eyes. Perhaps...Zelda's eyebrows arched as she honed in one of the walls. An incredulous smile spread across her face.

"The ceiling could be loose..." Link said finally.

"Link."

"...I think an arrow might bring it down..."

"Link."

"...I'm sure that it would become jammed against the walls, then we could run across..."

"_Link._"

Finally, he turned to her. "What is it?"

Zelda pointed. "There's a rope."

He followed the tip of her finger to the cable pinned to one side of the wall, chains holding it in place. "Oh."

Biting down on her lower lip, the young Harkinian stopped herself from laughing. It felt strange - and yet at the same time, relieving - to experience such brevity in the face of their adversity.

Link grinned. "This is why I like you."

The corner of her mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. "It is?"

His eyes flashed as he continued to grin, and nodded. Freeing his crossbow, Link loaded in two arrows, ignited the mechanism, then fired. Dismay made Zelda squirm as she saw the familiar weapon, but all was forgotten as the arrows snapped through the chains in series of sparks, sending the rope spinning towards them.

Zelda yelped as Link pulled her closer to him. "Don't get used to this."

Fidgeting, and feeling distinctly uncomfortable from both the heat of his body and the heat of his stare, Zelda pierced him with a glare, though she still couldn't drop the smile from her face. "I don't plan to."

With a quick run-up, they swung across. The hot wind, like the breath of a dragon, whipped into their faces. Then, without warning, the rope tugged, then twisted, strands snapping off one by one. "I don't think," Link said through gritted teeth. "That this is going to hold."

They both stiffened, the other side of the passageway seeming oh-so-distant, an island of safety beyond the abyss. More strands snapped with a twang. Zelda, her heart enlarged with fear and beating painfully, clutched to Link's tunic, tearing it in the process. Her palms, greasy with sweat, almost slipped. She looked up at Link. His eyes were closed once more, and she felt a sudden shift in the air -

_Isn't he such a clever boy? And yet he doesn't even recognise me; .doesn't even know who I am, doesn't even know I'm here. I'm hurt. After all this time. But it doesn't matter...I can hurt him more. Hurt him from where he'll never recover. After all, I have his sister...and I have you._

"Zelda!"

Her head rolled, as though she were drowsy, her eyes fluttering open to see Link kneeling before her. His face was twisted with concern as he stared at her. A dim corner of her heart throbbed with pain - she didn't want to see him hurt. She pushed it away. Her eyes widening, she found that they had reached the other side safely.

"What's the matter?" he repeated, his voice high. "What's wrong?"

She stared at him, her lips quivering. Almost, _almost,_ she felt like collapsing into his arms, telling him what haunted her and begging him to help. Almost. "I'm just..." She cleared her throat. "This is hard for me. I don't know what's to come."

She saw his mouth open, but she held up a hand instantly. "Don't. No promises. No assurances. I know what I asked you to do. Let's...let's just see what the One has planned for us."

Visibly he relaxed, the tension melting from his face. Link nodded, gingerly pulling her to her feet.

They walked on in silence now, each busy with their own thoughts. Their earlier humour had vanished, dissipating into the shadows that now crawled up the once shining walls. It grew darker and darker as they made their way through the narrow passageways, the musty smell of aged air making them twitch. There were no other corridors branching off from the one they were in - clearly everything went in one direction. Everything led to the centre.

Zelda, her heart thumping with every step, tried to concentrate on sounds once more. They were real. They were familiar. Thunder echoed from outside, amplified within the City to the point that it sounded, to her, like the deep growl of a starved beast. It didn't comfort her. The only other constant was Link's breathing - rhythmic, measured, calm.

Despite his close proximity, she didn't want to think about him. Her mind drifted instead to the Princess and a knot twisted in her stomach. What had happened to her beloved sovereign? The Princess' kindness came back to her just then, the memories stunning her like icy cold water to the face. She remembered how the Princess would keep a nightly vigil every time Zelda, as Sheik, would spend time outdoors, waiting for her to return safely. She recalled the worry that lined the Princess' face, the burden she carried not bending her neck, not ever making her lose her regal composure. She remembered how the Princess would visit every member of their family - especially the children - morning and night just to check on their well-being.

Her now dead family. Tears stung her eyes as a gaping pit of loss opened in her heart. Zelda had nothing left now. No one to turn to, to rely upon, to bolster her spirits. She glanced up at Link and suddenly he seemed like a stranger to her, cold and distant. She was right. He didn't know her. Only the Harkinians had done that. Only the Princess. And now they were all gone.

Zelda just wanted all this to be gone. She just wanted to rebuild her life. She just wanted that small _chance_; craved it like a parched man in the desert, like a thin mother gazing helplessly at her starving children as they wailed.

_Poor little Zelda. I wouldn't worry about your Princess. She's in good hands now. As are you._

This time she didn't flinch. This time, with the bones in her cheek set firm, she clung onto her sense of self and the solid comfort of the reality around her. What she couldn't stop, however, was the cold, inky feeling of despair flooding her entire soul.

The voice returned, laughing. _Brave, brave girl. But bravery, in my world, will only -_

...

"- _earn you death!"_

A chance! Impa saw it, with everyone distracted, especially the Hylian Princess herself, too busy gloating at Mystral. She now had her chance.

A tremor of anticipation thrummed through her as she slipped past the Twins, their jaws open wide, their eyes fixed elsewhere, and gripped the hilt of her sword. Impa had no idea what was truly going on, nor did she remotely care. All she lived for was the thrill of the battle; all she saw in front of her was a game of strategy, one that she was determined to win.

This, finally, would erase the shame of her having lost the Castle to the Hylians. This would redeem her in her King's eyes. She glanced over to him now, motioning slightly with her head. He understood, nodded, then slowly crept away from the Twins.

She took a step forward. Another, while her other hand pulled free from her belt a packet of explosive powder, damp with its tangy scent. Yet another inch gained. No one had noticed her at all. These people were fools! How could she have let them best her so easily?

One step. A second, debris crunching under her boot. An age seemed to pass and, yet, still no one could tear their eyes away from the torture the creature was inflicting upon Mystral. A third step.

_Now. Spinning on the balls of her feet, Impa slashed with her sword, her other hand hurling the powder. Her blade easily slit through the Princess shoulder, sending the creature spinning, a bellow of rage flying from its mouth. The black energy tore away from Mystral and ploughed into a wall, dissolving it to dust, and exposing them to the elements outside._

The packet landed inbetween the Twins. They glanced down, momentarily confused, then shock overtook them. It was too late. The explosion ripped through their bodies, scorched flesh and burnt bones flying into the air. Flames shimmered in the spot where they had just stood.

Torrents of slanted rain now poured into the Hall, spitting against the floor, and making the small fires hiss. Impa glanced at Mystral, saw that Fran had leapt over to her, and saw, with joy, that the woman still lived, though her skin was singed.

She felt the King beside her. "Well done," he said, his voice shaking with relief. "Now we can chop off the head to this little revolution."

They both looked over at the Princess as she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet. Impa frowned. The wound that she'd given the creature glowed, green ooze pouring from it and what looked like maggots flopping around on its arms. Grimacing, Impa wondered what kind of monster this thing truly was.

"Even if we kill it," Impa said, after taking a deep breath. "We still have the Zora to deal with. And then the Hylians." Again, she felt her heart tremble. All that meant to her was more fighting. Good.

"Where are the Zora, anyway?" Montero asked. "Have they deserted the Princess?"

"More like," she murmured in reply, "she deserted them. Maybe she killed them." She brought her sword to bear as the creature regained its composure, snarling. "Maybe it doesn't matter."

"_Very good,"_ the creature said. "_I didn't think any of you had it in you." _She paused, her thoughts seemingly turning inward. The Princess looked at though she were deep in thought.

Impa flicked a look over at the King. "What's happening?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It seems this is far from over."

Snapping awake, the Princess hissed, a smile once more hanging from her face. "_You are so correct._" The castle began to shake, the storm above becoming more agitated as the wind howled in fury. "_Now I have all three. Now my power is complete."_

Montero growled. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, striding forward. "But I've come to expect that from you now. Tell me...why do I get the impression that it was you who inspired the Hylians to revolt? That it was you that was responsible for my father's death?"

A raspy chuckle escaped from the creature's lips. "_You'd be correct in that assumption, Dragmire._ _There's little now you can do about it."_ The air itself seemed to contract, energy swirling around the Princess like a velvet cloak. "_There's little you could _ever _have done about it._"

A horn rang out over the rumbling storm, faint at first, but soon piercing the air. Impa spun around, recognising it instantly. Peering through the sheets of rain, she saw them, drenched, armour glistening, broad shields at the ready. "_This _I like."

Montero seemed to sag with relief. "They came," he said as he watched his Calatian allies organise their troops. "They finally came."

"_Little good it will do you."_ They all turn to face the Princess. The creature rose in the air, a shrieking wind of energy eating holes in the remaining walls and setting curtains and tapestries alight. Masonry dissolved in her presence, the very pillars that held the Castle up straining in protest. She looked at the four of them with distaste, then gazed out at the assembled army. Panicked shouts floated towards them now, and the rumble of running feet told them all that the Zora and Hylians were rushing to meet the threat. At least, those that had not been caught spellbound by the storm. The Princess smiled. Everything was going perfectly. "_This is where you all die."_

...

Fear pricked Link's heart. He didn't try to show it, hoping instead to maintain a steady connection to the One, but he knew it was there. He feared for Zelda, her eyes distant pinpricks of light, as she grew more and more withdrawn the closer they drew nearer to the centre of the City. Foolishly he had though that her earlier high spirits had marked a change in her attitude. He was wrong.

And she kept blacking out. It was something he couldn't understand. Was the strain breaking her fragile mind? He swallowed, sneaking a glance at her, but not wishing to engage her in conversation. It had scared him, the eerie way she had faded away, with her eyes rolling until they turned white. He sensed something, too. Ancient, malevolent, it whispered at her heart. He could hear it now, though he couldn't make any sense of it. Link was sure that it had been there a long time, but she had hidden it from him. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

What was certain, though, was that a solution would present itself. His conviction burned in his heart, a fire that would not be extinguished or dimmed. Incantations fell from his lips in quiet whispers, like drops of molten metal heated with the passion he felt within.

Zelda stumbled. Link's heart lurched as he reached back and took her gently by the hand. He thought that she might resist, but the look in her eyes told her she'd accepted. Even through his gloves he could feel the coldness to her fingers, her hand light, empty like the expression on her face. Link turned away. She was crumbling. And there was nothing that he could do, despite all the skills he had learned since his journey had begun.

"Zelda?" he whispered. No response came. His voice tailed off into the air, sounding faint and forlorn. Link tried to push with his heart and, with a jolt, found a wall in front of her soul. What was happening? "Zelda?" This time he did look at her, and flinched. Her eyes had turned inward again, her skin draining of colour. Still her hand was in his, and so he led her on, the disquiet gnawing at his soul and making his heart tremble. Things were not going well at all. He closed his eyes, the warmth of the motion tingling him. "Come back to me."

Link felt alone. Truly, terribly alone. His free hand fingered his Glimmer Capsule at his belt. What could Bannock do but give him company? He didn't need it. He had the One. He would survive. As though listening to his inner musings, thunder groaned from outside, an angry moan, deep and guttural. Shivering, Link took in a deep breath and plunged onwards.

No more traps came their way, no more puzzles to be solved. Studying the golden walls, Link saw intricate carvings etched therein. He drew close to one, blowing on it to remove the curtain of cobwebs. Crude shapes - representing people he assumed - told a story that he'd now become quite familiar with. There were three there...two men, one woman. Though her features were indistinct, the shape of the woman, the curve to her hair, the angles to her face, clearly made her out to be Zelda. Link almost gasped.

Now he could hear the distant patter of rain hissing against the outer walls. Thunder accompanied it once more, short bursts this time, sometimes punctuated by a long, sharp crack. The air inside grew cold.

Rounding the next corner, Link found himself facing an open doorway, marble framing the pure blackness within. He froze. Scarlet eyes cracked open from within the darkness. Link's mouth went dry, his free hand reaching for his crossbow - then he stopped, a flutter and a squeak revealing nothing but bats, disturbed after a long slumber.

Link, Zelda still trailing behind him, stepped into the chamber. One by one, torches came alive, though he couldn't tell how or why. Flames burst into existence, illuminating the room with a pale orange glow. He found himself in a circular room, exits on all sides, and at the centre of which, framed by what appeared to be an ethereal haze, the Black Sword stood, its tip in buried in the floor, its hilt waiting.

Letting go of Zelda's hand, Link slowly strode forward, his heart hammering so hard that he though it would be heard by his friends outside. He forced moisture into his mouth as he stepped up to the sword. An answer...there had to be an answer! His fingers curled around the hilt. Something hissed in the darkness. A distant scream faded into silence. He ignored it all. A chill, like ice, spread up his arm. Memories bolted into his mind, though he knew they didn't belong to him. All he could understand were the feelings - hatred, betrayal, sorrow, pain, regret, _despair._

With a tug he pulled the Black Blade free. It shimmered, as though it were liquid shadow. He gazed at it in wonderment. An answer, his heart begged, where was his answer?

"Well done."

Link looked up to see Servion enter through one of the other doorways. The pendants around his neck clinked as he moved, his eyes smouldering with greed and hate. The Chief had lived. He'd somehow managed to cross the gorge and navigate the traps in the City. Link had expected it.

"You've brought her here," Servion continued, his hands clutching the ornaments around his neck. "Now I can pull him out."

"_That won't be necessary, Servion."_

Link spun around, the sword almost dropping from his hand, his eyes searching for his friend and, when reaching her, only one word hanging on his breath: "Zelda..."

Except it wasn't. Her face was contorted, her mouth twisted into an evil grin as her eyes turned black like the night. Obsidian sparks spat from above her heard, sucking the air into a whirlpool of energy around her form. She seemed to be two people in one, both merging into the other. Zelda's form was clear...but, the other...it was a creature that Link did not recognise.

Other creatures pulled themselves up from the ground, as though dragging themselves free from larvae. Teeth decayed, mis-shapen, their faces ending in large snouts, the Moblins howled wordlessly.

"Master?" Servion called, his voice laced with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"_What I mean, fool, is that now that you've brought the Triforce of Power and the Triforce of Courage to me, I'm in no need of you. I already have the Triforce of Wisdom in my possession - the Princess herself is my slave. As is Zelda."_

Link's head swam. Shock stabbed his mind like an arrow. What was this _thing_ using Zelda's body, but talking in such a manner?

"_You see, I've decided that I like this body. I don't need you to use the Triforce of Power to draw me out._"

Link flicked a glance at Servion, a dim ember of hope warming in his heart. Draw him out? A chance, he realised...he'd found his chance, however faint.

Zelda turned to the young Hylian. "_Ah...Link. Linnnnnk._" She studied his face, her head cocked to one side. "_For so long I'd made the same mistake. I used to attack you directly...go straight to the source, if you will. I learned my lesson, you see. This time...this time, things were different. You had no idea...no hint as to what I was doing._

_"You see, boy. It was me. It was always me. I put the notion in the King's heart to make you an assassin. I pushed Servion on, teaching him to orchestrate your betrayal so that everything you held dear would be ripped from you. And you...ah, you...you were doing so well, consumed by revenge, hatred and having such an exquisite taste for blood." Sadness flickered on Zelda's face. __"For a moment, I had thought that you'd beaten your hideous desire to be a Hero. For a moment...I thought we could have been allies; friends, even. But, no...you stayed true to form._

It curled Zelda's hand into a fist. _"Well, so have I! Hyrule - Calatia - is on its knees, and the three pieces of the Triforce are mine! My pathetic descendent is dead. Zelda - two of them! - are my puppets. This time, however...this time, I will win. I know you won't hurt Zelda. And so...you won't hurt me. After so very long, my vengeance is complete. Now there's no need for me to hide. Now I can strike at you directly, safe in the knowledge that you're far too weak, and too blind, to be able to strike back. I once had a form like yours, pathetic, weak, but I transcended it. I was the first, and she had been mine for so long, but she betrayed me, dared to love another. And so it ends and I shall be the last one standing." _The creature snarled, its eyes bleeding pure darkness. "_This time all will kneel in front of the King of Thieves; man, woman, child, Hylian, Calatian, Zora...this time all will kneel, all will cower, all will serve me...all will serve Ganon."_


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

With a shriek that trilled deep within the hearts of anyone that heard it, the Moblins surged forward, jostling with one another and snorting frantically. Their yellow eyes gleamed, narrowed slits of glowing energy. The Ganon possessed Zelda stayed behind, mouth open wide, liquid darkness pooling therein, as the King of Thieves howled with laughter.

"_This truly is the end, isn't it? Darkness takes its rightful place, the filth and stench of light finally smothered." _A lazy smile crept across Zelda's face. "_Ah...do you hear? Do you feel? So sweet. Life crumbles and it tastes so sweet._" Now she took on a pensive expression. "_Why hadn't this occurred to me before, I wonder? A simple slave was that all I needed. Worry not...though it's hard for me to split my consciousness between my two puppets, I can feel my power returning; it's reached its zenith in Hyrule City, and soon it will follow suit here. Then...ah ha...then will you know pain...but first..."_ Zelda's head turned to the Hylian Chief. "_Servion...hurt him...cut him...but leave him alive...I'll finish him off._"

Link stood his ground, his fists clenched, his face set, the veins in his arms bulging. "Servion!" he cried over the din. "What is that thing?"

A flicker of doubt flashed over the Chief's face as he slowly backed away. "The Holy," he whispered, as though he were dazed. A gale of black energy whipped at their hair and clothes. "Come to smite the sinners...come to smite you, Demon."

"_Obey me, slave_," Ganon bellowed, his voice drenched with menace. "_Engage the Demon._"

The Moblins grew larger and larger in Link's eyes, their path slowed as they constantly toppled over one another, but still the former assassin stood firm, unperturbed. The Nonag...the Thief married to the original Zelda...the great evil every one hundred summers. Everything clicked. He jerked his head back towards the Hylian Chief, ignoring Ganon's words and the magic that tortured the air, crackling and popping. "You said you could draw it out?" he shouted. "How?"

Servion, his eyes blank, just simply shook his head, his fingers stroking the two pendants around his neck. "Smite the sinners...then, he'll reward me...yes, he will."

Anger erupted in Link's heart. "Tell me how!" he screamed. "Or the only reward you'll be getting is my sword in your throat." Even as the words left his mouth, the former assassin could feel his bond to the One dim. Deep inside he knew that he'd forgotten something, overlooked something terribly important. He ignored it.

Blinking, the light returned to Servion's face. "The Triforce of Power," he said, his hand curling around the said item, "With your mind and the Triforce you draw him out."

At last! Hope surged through Link's soul, filling him with a comforting light. He knew it! He knew the One would provide him with an answer! Hope lived! Grinning, his lips moving in hushed thanks, he turned to face the oncoming horde.

The Moblins were almost upon him now; somehow whatever dark magic that had brought them life also providing them with bows. Arrows, their lethal steel tips spinning, tore through the air, screaming like deadly curses.

Like a crack of lightening bridging heaven and earth, Link connected to the One, feeling the elements at his fingertips. He moved, his body like the wind itself, jerking this way and that, faster than an eye could follow, dodging the incoming storm. Time froze. The Moblins gaped, their bows empty.

Dropping the Black Sword with a clang, Link flipped his crossbow into one hand, the other pulling a scoop of arrows from his quiver and jamming them into his weapon. The world turned white, the twisted faces of the Moblins shrinking into pinpoint black dots.

"Now die," Link breathed. His arrows flew, pushed along with unnatural speed, jet black and burning, blurred scarlet light blossoming and collapsing with every press of the trigger. Razor sharp steel tore through one Moblin's head, green blood bursting free, another took one in the eye and screamed; yet another found his throat ripped apart, and one of his fellows staggered, then fell, skewered by two more arrows.

Hooking the crossbow back on his belt, and quickly picking up the Black Blade, Link shoved Servion through one of the exits into the passageway beyond and relative safety. Leaning close, he could feel his own eyes burn with fury. "Give me the Triforce of Power." He glanced down at the Chief's neck, saw the two ornaments swinging gently. "What's the other one?"

"The Triforce of Courage." Suddenly Servion pushed away, eyes flashing dangerously, and seemingly growing larger as some sort of resolve returned to his body. "You can't have either of them." Dark light glowed from the chains around his neck, the light in the passageway dimming, the temperature dropping. "They're mine. They'll help me. The Triforce of Power _is_ my power...it saved my life, it brought me here safely, and it fills me with the strength to slay anyone in my path. All the sinners will be punished...I was _meant_ to have them."

"_Servion!_" Ganon screamed from inside the chamber. A few of the remaining Moblins, now cowed from Link's display of power, peered into the corridor, engrossed with what was unfolding before them. "_Attack him now! Then give **me** the pieces of the Triforce!_"

Doubt crossed the Chief's expression once more, but only for a heartbeat before hate and determination took their rightful place. Steel sliced the air as Servion drew his Hylian sword, whispering, "You can't have the Triforce of Power."

His heart tight, Link felt molten rage flow through his veins. This selfish pig was stopping him from saving Zelda. _Zelda._ A vice like grip squeezed his chest harder than ever before, a taste of hot metal dropping on to his tongue. Zelda was all that mattered. Link swung the Black Sword into position, whipping the air like rhythmic heartbeats, and drew the Master Sword with his other hand. He knew two things: Ganon had yet to reach his full strength, and that the power of the Triforce prevented Link from attacking Servion with his crossbow.

Neither concerned him. He was a Boneyard Warrior. They didn't stand a chance. "Then," Link said, coiling energy into his body, "I'll just have to pry it from your lifeless fingers."

Guttural yells, born deep within each man's soul, flew free, the two fighters throwing themselves at the other, Servion driven on by the power of the Triforce, Link letting the One guide his movements. Blades danced, lightening quick movements weaving in and out as each man tried to gain an advantage, the shimmering clash of steel against steel ringing out in the narrow passageway, the flash of sparks dazzling.

Link closed his eyes, trying to reach out with his heart and _pull_ the Triforce pieces towards him, rip them from Servion's neck and somehow use the wind to bring them to safety. His heart and soul pulsed as the focused all his energy in that direction, letting the rest of the world fade away.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, Link realised that there seemed to be some sort unseen barrier around the two pendants. Not having the time to dwell on why this would be so, the young Hylian continued his attack.

Servion split the air with his sword, the steel flashing orange, catching the light from the burning torches. Link dodged easily, and the Chief's blade cracked into a wall, bringing spinning sparks to life. The former assassin spun once, twice, his body a blur, the wind tugging at his cloak, the first arc a slice with the Black Blade, the second flashing silver as the Master Sword ripped the air.

Servion dodged the first, blocked the second, then pushed away, skidding as he tried to maintain balance. Steel careened against steel, bodies twirling, souls caught between fear and hope. Link's movements were precise, smooth, but his heart was desperate. Over and over his eyes would fly back to the Triforce of Power now swinging wildly from Servion's neck. He had to get it. _He had to_. Ganon's deep laughter from the chamber only reinforced his conviction, reminding him what had befallen Zelda. _Zelda._ An icy spike of fear pierced his soul.

Link flinched, momentarily lost in his thoughts, as the Chief cut downwards in a diagonal arc. The sword's glinted edge tore down towards the young Hylian until, with his shocked senses returning, he scrambled backwards, almost slipping. Once more, Servion's sword struck rock, and once more the blow gave birth to a hail of sparks, crimson starlight brought down to earth.

Undeterred, the Hylian Chief rode with the momentum, bringing the sword whirling around for another strike. Link, Black Blade crossed over the Master Sword, met the attack, feeling glowing embers of shorn metal singe his forehead. They stumbled, held in that position, each jostling for a way through. Link, sweat drenching his body as his heard pounded painfully against ribcage, realised that the Triforce of Power was not only protecting Servion, but also augmenting the Chief's skills. He'd just have to take a more direct route.

Link's knee plunged into Servion's stomach, winding him , their swords disengaging. Metal slashed, a cut aimed for the Chief's face, but Servion moved in a flash and, flipping his blade upside down, drove the hilt into Link's jaw. The young Hylian reeled, stunned.

Pouncing on the opening, Servion curved his sword in towards Link's head in a precise arc, the metal gleaming once again. Heart spiking, frozen, the young Hylian ducked at the very last moment, his hair catching the slice, then, with one foot in front of the other for momentum, thrust with his double blades, the Black Blade casting a dark shadow over the silver Master Sword.

Servion spun away deftly, then swung his sword up over his own head and then brought it screaming down towards Link. Like liquid lightening, the former assassin flung the Black Sword up, blocking the blow. They stood there, their arms trembling, their swords locked once more. Link felt the blood pump in his ears, felt the heat in his face. Teeth clenched so hard that his injured jaw ached, his eyes met Servion's, sky blue reflecting in chestnut brown. The stench of burnt metal hung in the air. A drop of sweat rolled over the Chief's eyelid, then dropped to the ground.

__

Zelda.

Link growled, his face twisting. He pushed with his sword, throwing Servion's arm in the air, and sending shooting pains into his own wrist. The Chief staggered back, shocked. In that briefest of moments, Link twirled, the air whipping around his face, and brought his other sword - the Master Sword - around, its sharp edge hurtling towards Servion's torso. Realisation blossomed in the Chief's eyes and he stepped back -

- too late. The Master Sword cut through his chest, a thin slice that brought blood to the skin.

Grinning, Link wanted to yell in triumph, his head spinning from the small victory. His connection to the One dropped instantly, like a stone hurled into a deep well, and he stumbled, disorientated. Seeing this, Servion wasted no time. The Chief, mouth splitting open in a victorious snarl, plunged his sword into Link's flank.

Spikes of pain hooked into his body as Link tore himself away, screaming. He stumbled away, more surprised than hurt. Biting down hard, he tried to stop the world from spinning, tried to stop his vision from flashing scarlet. What had gone wrong? Why wasn't the One helping him?

Servion stepped forward, pressing home his advantage, and swung yet again for the youngster's head. Black dots popping in his sight, Link still managed to have enough sense to duck, the motion sending more pain through his side.

Snarling, the Chief dropped to the floor, and brought his blade around towards Links legs. A split-second passed, and Link pushed with his soul. Finding the One in an instant, Link somersaulted backwards, flipping in the air, then landing with a slight stumble. He felt something warm and wet trickle down his stomach towards his hips.

There was no time to ponder that, though. Servion, his face creased with fury, leapt at him, sword at the ready. Letting go of his own swords, Link let himself fall onto the floor and, digging his elbow into the ground, swung around, his leg colliding into the Chief's shins, bringing him down in a heap.

Instantly Link's eyes funnelled in on the Triforce of Power dangling around Servion's neck, rising and falling in time with the man's breathing. Link lunged, re-energised by hope, the triangular ornament looming large in his eyes. Time contracted, the air shimmering like a smudged painting. His heart seemed to slow to a crawl, his mouth watering, as his fingers brushed against the Triforce and -

- the world flashed red, Servion's elbow smashing into his cheek. Link rolled away, tasting the sharp tang of blood in his mouth. He stood, heaving. Eyes narrowed, the young Hylian felt his muscles tremble. This was a man he'd once looked up to, obeyed, respected, even feared. A sour taste bubbled inside of him. Link was sick of him. He was sick of the pain this man had brought to him. Images burned across his mind - the day at the Meeting House, the hot feeling of being shamed, the Chief's gloating face the night he was betrayed, Mystral hanging lifeless, struck by one of Link's arrows. Mystral, Mystral, _Mystral._

Something burst free deep within Link's soul, something hot, seething and wild. Link leapt, then rolled, then jumped, scooping his swords up from the ground.

Screaming, hate pumping the blood in his arms, Link swung, both swords curving towards his nemesis. Swords clashed, and Servion was thrown back by the sheer force of the ferocious attack. Still Link kept going, the heavy fatigue in his arms dissipating, the wound in his side just a dull throb. Metal chased metal, buzzing. On and on he pushed, the skin on his hands splitting, his lungs afire, his throat burning. Faces burst into his mind with every strike - Zelda, Mystral, Zelda. _Come on, come on, come on! _Blades blurred, sparks danced, steel sang; swing, parry, thrust following one after the other without a pause, a fluid symphony, a dance of death.

Link sliced downwards in a curve with both blades. Servion parried, whirled, and thrust at the youngster's head. Jerking his head back violently, Link saw the sword glimmer momentarily in front of his eyes, then kicked, his boot cracking the Chief's injured chest. Flipping forward, his arms like steel, he brought both swords speeding down towards Servion. A flash of the Chief's wide, fear stained eyes reflected in the polished metal for an instant, then Servion moved, the dark light of the Triforce giving him extra strength.

The twins swords split the ground, sending tiny shards of rock into the air. Link twirled them back up in a heartbeat. Digging his heels in, he spun once more, the blades flying in a sharp arc. Again Servion blocked, sparks spinning like molten drops of sweat. Hate still driving him on, Link continued to swing, one attack after another, but every single time he was blocked, the Chief being just a little too quick for him. Link pushed Servion through the entrance back into the chamber, bodies still swivelling, swords still swinging.

Heat made the air shimmer, black energy filling the chamber slowly, Ganon's perpetual laugh the only sound. With a roar, Servion drove his shoulder into Link's chest, shoving him back violently. The Chief backed off in an instant, leaving a good gap between himself and the younger man. Link sucked in a breath, his assassin eyes quickly evaluating the situation, his Boneyard heart soothing the rest of his overworked body.

Swinging his arms forward, Link let both swords fly free, twirling, sparkling steel tip over hilt. In a liquid-quick blur, the young Hylian leapt, somersaulting over Servion's head, then landing behind him, plucking both the blades from the air as they tore past either side of the Chief.

Whirling on his heels, Link slashed once with the Black Blade, cutting Servion's shoulder and spinning him around, then again with the Master Sword, sending a rain of blood flying from his nemesis' chest once more. A scream of pain burst free from the Chief as he fell back, his hand going straight to his wounds and coating his fingers with dark thick liquid.

"_Oh...please do continue,_" Ganon snorted. A halo of dark magic billowed around Zelda's head. "_So much entertainment. There's more to come when I finally make the world mine. Ah...I tremble to think...so much luxury...so much torture and delicious pain...so many men to be enslaved, so many sweet women and innocent children to be blighted." _Sulphur mixed with the odour of long-dead flesh, left too long and rotten to the bone. "_ And to think...the one thing that kept me back from the world was a dust mote like you. You. You. YOU."_

Out of the corner of his eye Link noted the remaining Moblins, still hesitant from their earlier defeat, watching with faint interest as Ganon swaggered wildly in the background. A flicker of black light made his heart jump -

- then Link ducked, as Ganon's dark magic, flying from Zelda's fingers in forked tendrils of energy, careened into the wall, obliterating it into dust and leaving the area beyond scorched. Panic made his mind freeze. The young Hylian ran, back bent, as Ganon trailed him with his magic, the walls bursting above his head, covering his neck with hot ash.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, the air crackling from the aftershock. Link glanced up, saw Zelda panting, Ganon's energy spent. He wasn't limitless in his power, then. Seeing Zelda made Link's heart clench, as though it would burst. It hurt to see her like this. Hurt more than any strike from a sword. "Hold on, Zelda," he whispered. "Just hold on."

Finding Servion again, Link ran towards him, pausing only to drive the Black Sword into the ground. Now with only the Master Sword at his disposal, Link pushed himself on, spinning the blade, chopping the air above his head. Reaching the Chief, he whirled in for the attack.

Swords crossed, the metal clanging against metal. They held that position, their bodies shuddering, their knuckles turning white. Link took a step forward. Then another. Slowly, _slowly, _he raised his free hand, inching ever so closely towards the Triforce of Power. Servion, his eyes scrunched, was oblivious. Link's heart trembled in anticipation, his hand edging closer, closer, closer...the tips of his fingers reached for the carved wood. His soul leapt. His fingers touched the Triforce, then slipped because the surface was slick with blood, and then curled around -

"NO!" Servion snarled, shoving Link away. Before he could even react, Link was struck by a bolt of pure, dark energy, flying straight out of the Triforce of Power. A sharp jolt of pain vibrated through his body, his veins feeling as though they held iced needles instead of blood. Slowly, his body dangling, he was lifted from the ground, then hung suspended in the air.

Ganon's laugh boomed in his ears. Another blast of magic, this time from the King of Thieves himself, crashed into Link, throwing him against the wall with a wet crack. Fading fast and pinned against the hard surface, the young Hylian's head snapped back and forth violently as the black lightening crawled all over him, eating into his flesh and drilling into his bones.

"_Such simple joy,"_ Ganon crowed. "_I'm amazed that you still have the fight in you. Your kind always had that extra spark that kept you all going, didn't you? Well, I had it, too...but this time, it's a blaze, and **you** are the firewood. You won't win. Give it up._" Another laugh rang out as the dark magic began to fade.

Feeling all the air leave his lungs, his head spinning wildly, Link slid to the ground, every nerve in his body feeling as though it had been bathed in acid, then dragged in salt.

The very core of his brain pounded. Bile mixed with blood in his mouth. Wisps of smoke trailed off his tattered tunic. Again, no second assault came. Neither Servion nor Ganon, he realised, had complete control over the power they possessed. Link crawled, losing all sense of what he was doing and why as fatigue weighed down on his eyes, begging him to sleep, curl into the darkness and sleep.

__

Zelda.

Dragging himself painfully to his feet, Link tried to find Servion. Ganon was still laughing maniacally, though Link noticed a black whirlpool, small at first but steadily increasing, swirling around Zelda's hands. Clearly the monster was preparing for another attack - and a big one at that.

Sweeping the chamber with his eyes, Link finally found the Chief. He frowned. Somehow, Servion had made it to the _other_ side of the chamber, Ganon and the now useless Moblins between himself and Link. No doubt whatever power the Hylian Chief had tapped from the Triforce of Power had enabled him to make such a quick escape.

Not that it would do him any good.

Link focused his heart on the One. A twinge bit his heart and he frowned. For some reason, his bond felt smudged, as though weakened. Shaking the thought away, he hissed as pain shook his body, then sheathed the Master Sword. He tugged the Black Sword free from where he had left it, then pulled his crossbrow, still loaded, free from his belt. He took one step, then another, then leapt, the wind making him soar. The Moblins squealed in panic, their bows at the ready. Link swooped over them, arms outstretched, then twirled around to face them, twisting left and right as the arrows spat from the ground. Flicking the switch on his crossbow, the familiar hum making his heart tingle, the former assassin fired, over and over. The wind coiled around him like a thick cloak, assisting him to glide smoothly, curving over his enemies. Each of his arrows hit home, and the Moblins fell one by one, gurgling with pain.

Link landed, his back to Servion, then swung his arm around, aimed, and fired, his very last arrow ejecting in a ball of glowing flame. His soul flew along with the arrow, curling around the wood, guiding the steel tip exactly where he wanted. He hoped, _begged_, that the Chief would be too surprised to use the Triforce to deflect the attack. Servion expanded in his mind's eyes, the Chief's throat getting closer and closer and...

With a ringing snap, the arrow broke the chain around Servion's neck, sending the two Triforce pieces flying. Puzzled, Link knew that he had directed the shaft to go through the man's throat, but somehow, yet again, he'd failed. There was little time to dwell on why that was so. Eyes flashed, and his heart skipped as he saw the Triforce of Power laying peacefully on the ground. His limbs shrieking in pain, Link threw himself forward, his hands grasping desperately -

- then screamed as Servion's sword, sent flying by its owner, sliced through his ankle. Link felt the blood, felt the sharp pain like jagged glass thrust into his leg, but ignored it, biting down, his eyes fixed on the Triforce of Power. Behind him he heard energy crackle, and knew that time was running out. Why was this happening? Where was the One?

The sacred artifact caught his attention once more. His breath now ragged gasps, he forced his muscles to move, _move, move! _Letting the Black Sword go, Link slid across the ground, dirt flying into his mouth, his hand closing around the Triforce of Power and -

- a boot appeared in his vision, kicking the Triforce piece away. Both Servion and Link whirled around, watching as it skidded around the floor, then spun to a stop. They threw the briefest of glances at one another, then leapt, fingers touching -

- and sent the Triforce of Power pirouetting out of their grasp once more.

Ignoring the pain in his ankle, Link jumped up, his fingers curling. There was no way he would get the Triforce of Power so long as Servion lived. The muscles in his arm tensing, Link swung with his fist. Servion dodged, but then connected with a punch of his own. Link felt a tooth fly loose in his mouth, blood following it in hot, metallic spurts, and he hesitated, dazed. Another punch came crashing into his face, splitting the skin above his left eye.

Acting completely on instinct, crimson liquid flowing into his eye, Link feinted left, making the Chief flinch, then drove his right elbow into Servion's face. As the elder Hylian tumbled backwards, Link struck with a kick, then flew with a flurry of punches, each crack satisfying the raw emotion in his heart. Finally Link shoved, pushing Servion away from him. He heard energy buzz behind him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. He took a step forward, then curled his hands around Chief's tunic, bringing his face in closer.

"Don't you know," Servion snarled. His fear-struck eyes glanced down, searching, as his boots scrambled to regain some footing. Link remained firm, his fingers burning from how tightly he was holding on. "You belong to me. Your life is mine to do with as I please. The One has decreed it."

A shadow fell across the both of them, its form swirling. Link swallowed, knowing that he needed to be razor-sharp in his timing. He could feel the Chief's heart pound under his fingers, could hear his breaths escape, raspy and shallow. Another sound came to him, too, detected only by his heightened senses; faint, a soft whine that was growing steadily. "You know nothing about the One," he said, his voice low. The air behind them stunk with the stain of sulphur. "You're nothing in His sight."

Servion's face twisted with fury. "How dare you!" he bellowed. "He loves me and I love Him. I am His Chosen One; His instrument to wipe out sinners such as yourself and restore glory to the Hylians." He cocked his head to one side, grinning. "Do you know what one of His rewards his? I get to pick who I can punish and who I can enjoy as my slave. Well...as for punishment...I've been watching you for a long time, Link, and you certainly are drowning in the misery of your sins. You should thank me that I exiled you from the people - now you pay for your sins in this life and not the next. _Thank me, boy..._kiss my feet and beg me for forgiveness." He jerked his face forward. "As for a slave...welll...I've also been watching your sister for a long time." He licked his lips, leering. "A very very long time."

Link felt his hands and face tremble. He so dearly wanted to tear the smile from the Chief's face. But...no...he had to just hold on for a few seconds more. The whine had increased now, ringing in his head and making the very air shake. "You're a slave to your worthless ego, Servion. A child that needs toys just to make himself happy." He felt his neck tingle as energy tickled his skin. "I'd leave you to that fate if I could, because you'll have an empty life, always unsatisfied, always trying to lose yourself in childish delights. But, I can't...only because you'd use others to satisfy your sick desires. And for that." Link''s eyes blazed. "You should just simply die."

"Stupid boy," the Chief spat. "Stupid boy with a stupid sister. She didn't know what was good for her, she didn't know what she was giving up when she turned me down."

A muscle in Link's cheek twitched. This wretch had tried to marry Mystral? "She knew," he said, his teeth clenched. The air was now sizzling. Link's heart skipped a beat. "She knew she'd rather live alone for the rest of her life than marry dung like you."

Servion's hands curled around Link's wrists as he struggled to free himself. His eyes glanced to the Triforce of Power lying forgotten by their feet. "Say what you like, sinner. Do you know the difference between the righteous and wrongdoers? The righteous, like myself, always manage to stay two moves ahead of wrongdoers like you."

Link's grip tightened. Dark shapes flashed on the wall ahead of him, dancing, increasing in their frantic pace. The noise had become a roar, vibrating in his teeth and bones, and pounding at his head. "Well, do you know what this is?" he said, grinning. "This is the endgame."

Link dropped to the floor, letting go quickly, as Ganon's magic shot through the air. It hit Servion with full force, flinging him against the wall. The Chief's head flew back, an animal like scream tearing from his mouth. The young Hylian watched, his mouth agape, his heart recoiling in horror. Servion's skin peeled away from him, his flesh roasting and falling away. His skeleton then turned white before turning black and dissolved into ash, leaving only the burnt outline of a man against the wall. A few remaining embers of magical energy, floating aimlessly, sputtered for a moment, then dissolved into the air.

Letting out a laboured breath, joy and relief flooding his soul, Link picked up the Black Sword and the Triforce of Courage with one hand, and then scooped up the Triforce of Power with his other. He curled his hand around the latter, ignoring the bite of its sharp edges, and taking comfort in its solid reality. Slowly, pushing away the aches of his protesting body, Link turned to face Ganon.

Zelda's coal-black eyes were wide with shock. "_No_," Ganon gasped, stepping back. "_No, not this time. I cannot fail this time._"

Link stumbled onwards, dragging his damaged foot behind him, his eye swollen and throbbing. A line of blood followed him, his cloak trailing in the dark liquid. He pierced the Ganon-possessed Zelda with an icy stare. He held the Triforce of Power ahead of him so that, in his eyes' line of sight, he could see both the sacred artifact and Zelda.

"_NO!"_ Ganon screamed, black bolts flinging from his fingers. One caught Link on the shoulder, tugging him to the side and making him stumble. Another blast came. And another. But Ganon's power was spent now, and though each blast burned into his skin, forcing him to take a unsteady step backwards every time, Link kept on coming. "_So close,"_ Ganon cried. _"This time I was so close."_

Link felt blood seep in between his teeth. "It's over." He _pushed _with soul, using the Triforce of Power as a focal point, as a myriad faces danced in his eyes - Kisho, Fran, Harlequin, the Teacher, Sheik, Mystral, _Zelda. _Forcing his heart, his entire being, his _love_ into the sacred artifact, Link harnessed the energy that it contained. Luminous blue light burst out of the Triforce of Power, bathing the whole chamber in an azure glow. "Over."

The City of Gold shook, cracks appearing in the ceiling, clouds of rubble tumbling down as a result. A wave of incandescent energy poured out of the Triforce of Power. The King of Thieves roared as it surged towards him. Ganon's face raged, black magic billowing, but then the bright light engulfed him, leaving him submerged, his howling protests dying away into an anguished gurgle.

Link closed his eyes. _Zelda._

Pure happiness washed through Link's soul, his skin tingling, warmth coiling around his heart as the heavy burden finally lifted from his back. He heard soft sighs echoing around the chamber, the wave of light doing its work in a gentle, soothing manner. Over. Truly over. A tear rolled down his cheek. _Zelda_.

His eyes flung open - and a jolt pierced his heart, bringing cold sweat to the skin. Twin beams of crimson energy shone out from within the churning melee. Before Link could even realise what was happening, crackling magical bolts slit through the shimmering, blue wave, hissing as they cleaved the glowing barrier, and struck his hand. He screamed, seeing his fingers glow scarlet, the bones beneath visible for just a heartbeat.

A white flash flooded the chamber, stinging his eyes. When his vision returned, he saw a smoking pile of ash sitting on the palm of his hand.

One scream of joy, bloodcurdling in its horror, burst forth from the King of Thieves. "_At long last...darkness triumphs!_"

Despair prodded at the corner of Link's soul, threatening to grasp his heart, dig its claws in, and drag it screaming into the depths. His entire body felt numb. Some of his muscles spasmed. His fingers twitched, once, then again, then found something solid, angular and sharp. His stunned mind went blank until, after a moment's thought where scattered memories rearranged themselves, Link realised exactly what it was. His other hand still held the Triforce of Courage.

As though a bolt of lightening had seared through his heart, Link found himself cleared of every hint of his own self. All his frustrations, all his fears, all his doubts and desires melted away, leaving only crystal clarity in their place.

Ganon, cackling loudly with near hysterical laughter, walked forward, black light pooling around his head. He swayed from side to side, as though drunk on his victory. "_It's over, boy," _he taunted, Zelda's lips curled into a twisted grin. "_Do you accept the truth now? Do you see? Do you see who was right along? Do you accept?"_ His voice grew and grew, building to a frenzy. _"Bow before me!"_

Link hung his head, his fingers tensing, ready. "I accept," he whispered.

Flinging his arms out, Ganon threw back his head and laughed, a shrieking howl that vibrated through Link's head. Dark energy crackled around around Zelda's body; Link flinching from the sparks, knowing it would be impossible to get close.

And then the creature froze. The muscles in Zelda's face tensed, pushing against her skin, as though a struggle was taking place. "_You..." _The voice changed, dropping to a softer tone. Link's heart lurched, recognising his friend. "...don't deserve...your life...at the cost of so many..." Despair returned as the demon took over. "..._die, you wench...die, die, die!"_

Link saw it then, the chance he'd been praying for. Ganon had slipped, Zelda's act of defiance distracting him enough that he'd dropped his guard and left himself open. Hope lived! Pressing the Triforce of Courage against his palm, Link _pushed_ with his soul, connecting to everything around him, his bond with the One renewed, stronger than ever before. Drawing all the energy of life, his body a pulsing conduit of light, he then sprang into the air, twirled, bringing the Black Blade swinging around -

- and drove the sword straight through Zelda's body.

Shock exploded on her face. She gagged once, twice, the dark light in her eyes fading. Her mouth opened, as though Ganon wanted to speak, but the shadow that had twisted her features shimmered, then cracked, then sloughed off her body.

Zelda sagged, knees buckling, then slowly slid down the length of the trembling blade, coming face to face with Link. He stared at her, forcing his jaw to stay still, pushing his tears away. She looked up, the black sheen in her eyes dissipating completely, replaced by a glittering blue. Link thought, at that frozen moment in time, that she was the most beautiful person in the world.

Zelda coughed. "Link," she whispered, her voice scratchy.

They sank to the ground in a heap, their eyes still locked, Link still clinging onto the ebony sword. "I'm sorry," he gasped, desperately trying to keep his voice from cracking. "I broke my promise. I'm so sorry."

"Did we...did we win?"

Link's voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. "_You _won. _You _stopped him long enough so that I could..." The words died in his throat as tears took over.

Her eyelids fluttering as her soul fled from her broken body, Zelda caught him with one last intense gaze. "Smile for me, Link."

Finally her eyes closed, her head dropping to one side. Link, letting go of the blade at last, curled his fingers around hers, bringing his head to rest on her lap. They remained there, entwined in destiny's embrace, no flash of lightening signifying the end of the battle, no profound change in their surroundings indicating that anything momentous had just occurred. Resting in a pool of blood, all was silent, an eerie emptiness in the air. All was silent...save for the soft weeping of a heartbroken young man.

**A/N**: No spoilers in reviews, please. Thank you. Final chapter next!


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

It all changed within a blink of an eye.

One minute Fran was watching, his heart torn with despair, as the Princess hovered above them all, howling with laughter as her dark energies scoured the oncoming Calatian army, soldiers evaporating with tortured screams. Mystral, her body shivering and her skin singed, was in his arms, a picture of complete dismay painted on her face. At least, Fran realised with a sense of relief, she was still alive. He hugged her tighter to him, and she glanced up, a forced smiled pressed on her lips.

He still couldn't believe it. Nor could he even fathom what exactly was going on. That the Zelda he had called a Queen, the Zelda he had served, the Zelda to whom he had lost his daughter to while trying to offer his aid, that this Zelda had now been brought back to life, possessed, and an instrument of darkness, made his stomach lurch.

His heart heavy, Fran picked up his bow once more, tested the string with a flick of his finger, and hooked in one last arrow. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the King and Impa swinging wildly with their swords, a futile gesture that was probably more a release of tension than an actual attack.

Bringing the bow into position, Fran lined up the steel tip of the arrow with the Princess' heart. He hesitated, swallowing. She was distracted, too busy with the slaughter that she was revelling in. A wave of nausea washed over him. This was _not_ Zelda. He pulled back the string, letting the tightened cord bite into his fingers and -

then the next minute, the Princess paused, a blank expression on her face. She spun slowly in the air, her eyes focused on some distant point in the sky. "_No_," she gasped. "_I've cheated death for so long. How could such a worthless young boy bring it to me? I see it...by my ancestors, I see it...it is the Void...and it is dark, cold, empty...so very empty._"

Fran released the arrow, his shoulders juddering from the recoil. It spun through the air, getting closer and closer and...the Princess screamed, one last inhuman roar of pain and defiance. The world froze for just one split-second - and then, with a burst of dark magic, she exploded, green flesh splattering the onlookers. Fran, dazed, saw his arrow plunge into the ceiling harmlessly.

Something dropped from the air, something small and triangular. Fran watched it hit the ground, spin on one of its sharp points, then dissipate into smoke. Still he didn't know what had just happened. All he did realise was that, from the very jaws of defeat, they had been granted a victory.

The world shimmered, then was engulfed in a flash. Fran blinked, rubbing his eyes, and heard the trickle of running water nearby. They were outside. Blinking again, Fran looked up...and up and up and up. A smile, slow to form, but genuine in its emotion, played on his face.

"What is it?" Mystral asked, awestruck. "What happened to Castle Dragmire?"

"It's been...renovated." Standing before them, white marble gleaming and thin towers pricking the sky, there stood a castle, encircled by a moat and crowned by a ring of clouds, the sun creeping up from behind. "Now _that_," said Fran, "looks very familiar."

Nearby, Montero stood to attention, barking orders, a wide grin planted on his face. "Free all the Calatians from their prisons!" he called. "Impa!" The Hylian woman bowed. "Send word to our allies. Round up every Hylian and Zora they can find. And make plans for a feast!" His hand curled into a fist, shaking. "A victory feast!"

...

The days passed slowly and still none of the confusion lifted. That, however, did not bother the Calatians, revelling in their freedom and holding celebratory banquets night after night, the singing, dancing and feasting lasting until dawn. All that they knew was that they'd been overrun twice - once by the Hylians and their mad Princess, and the second time by the mysterious Zora - and that their King had rescued them.

The Hylians and Zora were hunted down, their hands shackled as they were paraded through the streets, the Calatian crowds spitting, cursing, and throwing fetid fruit. Only Fran, Mystral and, naturally, Impa were exempt. They spent their time in the Castle, pouring over the ancient scrolls and pondering on what had just taken place. Impa's musings led them to believe that whatever had just happened had been resolved elsewhere, and that the demon had been slain by someone's else hand.

Not that the King had been convinced, though. All he'd seen was Fran's arrow hurtling towards the Princess and then the creature exploding. His eyes now held the humbled light of respect whenever he looked at the hunter. Fran hated it, but his mind was elsewhere. He knew, he _knew, _deep down in the very core of his heart, that Link had been responsible for the demon's demise. He couldn't, however, voice those suspicions. Mystral was still distraught, and Fran didn't want to raise her hopes unnecessarily. And anyway...even if Link had played a part in all this, that didn't mean he was still alive now.

Another strange occurrence took place. Slowly and slowly, day by day, the King's green skin faded, replaced by a golden tan, like the bronzed skin of the desert-dwellers. Fran knew that Montero was only half-Gerudo, and the last of his race at that. It seemed now that the King had lost even that part of him, too, though why was another question altogether. Montero had not been pleased, however. He'd taken pride in his Gerudo heritage and silently raged at the fate that had befallen him.

The day came when the King decided to pass judgment on the usurpers. A makeshift court was set up outside the drawbridge of the Castle, large enough for a mob of rabid Calatians to attend, the prisoners standing in the centre, their heads bowed. Montero and Impa sat at a long table set at the head of the area. Towards one side was where the spectators stood, hissing and catcalling. Towards the other side, at another table, sat Fran and Mystral, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Royal assassins encircled the whole area, standing guard.

The hunter decided that it was a shame that the King had picked this day for such an occasion. In the distance, twinkling with its myriad colours, a rainbow arched over the land. He would have liked to have taken Mystral away from all of this for a while. His eyes fell to the prisoners, noting their downcast expressions and the grime on their clothes. He recognised some of the Hylians - Deak, the Elder, in particular. The Zora he didn't know, but the gossip on the streets informed him that the regal looking female, standing with her back stiff, was the Duchess, Ruto.

Fran pursed his lips. _Ruto._ Interesting.

Montero slapped his hand on the table, killing the murmuring of the crowd instantly. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words were allowed to form, Ruto stepped forward.

"Failure," she spat. "You're a failure of a King. You and your kind have done nothing but break up the land and its people. You split apart that which had been joined, and created factions when there had once been unity. Whatever you decide today, know that the Zora will stop you one day. We owe it to the land."

A chorus of boos rained down upon her, but she showed no hint that she was affected. Fran squirmed in his seat, glancing at Mystral. This was not going to be very pretty.

The King held up a hand in an appeal for calm. "On the contrary," he said, his words measured. "It is you who have failed. And." He paused, glancing at the crowd. "You accuse me of betraying the land, but as far as I can see, it was you and your people that spilt blood, not me, and certainly not anyone under my command."

A cheer burst from the assembled throng, almost deafening in its volume. Ruto stood still, her eyes cold, a muscle in her cheek twitching.

Montero turned to the Hylians. "And you," he said. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Fran felt Mystral fidget beside him as Deak stepped up, his eyes glancing furtively. "We..." More boos cut him off. He swallowed, then tried again. "We have nothing to offer. We followed our Chief...we felt...we felt it was our right as Hylians to reclaim our land. We were wrong." He glanced up at the King. "All I ask is for your mercy. Punish us...the Elders. But the people, let them free...they were just doing what we...what Servion...ordered. They didn't know better."

Silence fell as all eyes turned towards Montero. Fran felt a tight knot in the pit of his stomach. Mystral's fingers brushed against his, and he grasped them, holding tightly.

The King cleared his throat. "For the Zora," he said. "They have three days to return to the depths from which they came. Within that three days they are to pay blood money to any Calatian family that suffered from their invasion."

Fran tapped his fingers against the table. Clever. Since most of the victims of the Zoras' attack had been Hylian, they were receiving a lenient sentence. This way it would seem to the Calatian populace that justice had been served, and that no sympathy had been given to the Hylians. The people of the city would be pleased indeed.

"After those three days," Montero continued. "If any Zora is found in these lands, they are to be killed instantly. As for _you," _here his eyes fixed upon Ruto, "_you _remain imprisoned in the Castle's dungeons indefinitely. Since you were clearly the motivation behind the attack, I certainly can't have you plotting and planning with your people, can I?"

The Calatians roared their approval as Ruto held her head up high, her lips straight, her eyes burning.

"For the Hylians," the King continued. The crowd leaned forward on their toes. Fran felt a twinge in his heart. "The Hylians started this mess. For that reason...you are all hereby banished from the city of New Hyrule. You will have your own settlement far from here, where you can live as you please. It is from my mercy that I don't have you all put to death. You will not interact with the Calatians, and neither will they interact with you. However...if Servion Boarhound ever returns to your people, he is to be brought to me...for immediate execution."

Deak and the Hylians sagged, their spirits broken, tears in their eyes. Cries of delight rang out from the throng of Calatians, some of them even breaking into song. The King gestured, signalling the end of the session, and the guards swarmed around the prisoners.

Sighing deeply, his heart feeling like a slab of lead, Fran stood, pushing away from the table. His legs trembled, but he steadied himself instantly. He'd expected it. But even the sheer reality of the King's words had struck him hard.

"Our homes," Mystral said. "Our lives...they're all gone."

Fran glanced at her, ready to offer comfort. He paused, seeing not sadness in her eyes, but acceptance. She smiled at him, and the hunter felt nothing but love for this brave, brave woman. "We'll keep going, lassie. That's the way of things."

She nodded. "I know."

A hand touched his arm and Fran looked up to see the King and Impa facing him.

"It was the only way," said Montero. "I hope you understand."

"I do," Fran replied. "You don't have to apologise to us."

The King shook his head slightly. "I'm not. I just want you to see...the Zora...I'm loathe to admit it, but she was right. We need to be united. But it can't happen now; too much has occurred. I need to lay the groundwork for it, I need to give everyone the time to heal and forget."

"I wish you well, laddie," the hunter replied. Taking Mystral by the hand, he moved to leave.

"Wait," Montero said. "In time...I want Calatians and Hylians to be one people once again. But for that, I need people that I trust."

With a sneaking sense of dismay, Fran could tell what was coming. "Spit it out, lad."

"When the Hylians elect their new Council of Elders, I want you three to be on there. You, Mystral, Impa. You'll all interact with me - and only me - as we build for the future." There was a pleading look in his eyes. "What do you say?"

"Is this a command from the King?"

"No," Montero replied, smiling. "It's a request from a friend."

"As for me," Impa said, stepping in. "I accept. I think I can knock my fellow Hylians into the shame. They certainly need it."

Fran looked at Mystral, saw the answer clearly on her face. He turned back to the King. "We'll think about it," he said. "Thank you."

The King shook his head, holding out his hand. "Thank _you._"

Fran took it, grateful. There was always hope, he knew. There was always hope.

Reluctantly leaving Mystral in the Hylian Quarter, the Hylian hunter made his way back up the winding paths that led to the small hut that he called home. It had been such a long time since he'd been there. Somehow, he'd done it yet again. Once more the world had faced death, and once more Fran had survived. He wondered whether that was a blessing or a curse. He'd lost his daughter the first time. This time, it seemed he'd lost a friend, too. Sahasrahla's corpse was found outside the city as the Calatians continued to clear the damage that the invasion had caused. Fran felt far too tired for grief. Felt far too old, too.

His eyes fell upon his home, his legs pushing him up over the final rise of the hill. Fran stopped, fear biting his heart. The door to the hut was slightly ajar, the light dancing in the windows telling him that someone had already entered. Picking up speed, Fran clutched his bow, his face tight as he wondered when this madness would ever end. Why couldn't life just leave him alone for once?

With a fierce kick, Fran burst through the entrance. Sitting at his table, a man and woman - both of whom he didn't recognise - jumped, their faces lined with shock. "Who are -"

The air changed, and a figure swung down from above, his legs hanging from the criss-crossed beams that made up the ceiling. Fran took a step back, before recognition hit him. "Link!" he cried. "What in the name of the Pit are you doing, skulking around and scaring the last remaining wits out of me! Did you lose your brain or didn't you think I would hesitate to kill any intruder that would dare break into my house?" He paused, his mind catching up to his eyes as he finally realised who exactly he was talking to.

Chuckling, the corner of the boy's mouth tugged upwards in a smile. "I missed you too, Fran."

...

"And then," Link said quietly as he reached the end of his tale. "She was gone."

The fire crackled in front of them, its heat stroking his face, the acrid smoke tickling his nose. It was a little too hot, but Link didn't notice. The pain that he carried felt like a viscous liquid, tarring his heart, clinging to his mind, and choking his soul. He thought that he'd never felt any other emotion but that pain in his entire life. He also thought that he would feel nothing else but that pain for the rest of his life.

Fran hadn't offered any comments, so Link raised his head to meet the old man's eyes. "I thought I could save her, Fran," he said. "I thought that I'd win."

Crisp skirts rustled and the young Hylian turned to face Malon, Harlequin sitting beside her. "Only in the stories, mister," she said. Her eyes held the same sense of sadness that he felt. "The knight saves the damsel and they live out their days in happiness. Or they're both denied their love, and so they end their own lives." She snorted disdainfully to show what she thought about _that_.

"That's selfish," Link said. "_I_ was selfish. I didn't want her to live for _her._ I wanted her to live so that I could _be_ with her." He looked away from the banditwoman. It had taken both him and his bandit friend quite a while to convince Malon of what had happened, so shocked and sickened she had been when she'd seen Link stumble out of the City of Gold, Zelda's cold body in his arms. He still had scratches on his face from her reaction.

Link felt Harlequin's hand on his shoulder. "Don't be hurting yourself over this, mister," he said. "If what the Teacher said is true, then the future is safe. Because of _you._ Think about that."

Fran spoke at last, his voice flat. "Where is she now?"

The young Hylian tried to loosen the knot in his throat. He failed. "We buried her. Outside the City. We left the Black Sword as a marker...except...it isn't black any more. It's not even steel." Fran raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue. "It turned crystal. I could see straight through it."

Link didn't tell him that he'd also buried his Oath Blade along with his friend. Didn't tell him that he'd given away the last of his money to the beggars in Lon Lon City as penance for breaking his promise to the One. To the most destitute person he could find, he had left a map, hastily drawn, that led to the City of Gold, with details on how to reach there safely, bypassing the guards to the Trail. He'd even included directions on an alternative path to the City, one that he'd found while exploring, one that wouldn't need the now-demolished stone bridge. He was sure that the woman - her children clinging to her skirts in hunger - would find all that precious metal useful.

It hadn't surprised him that the City had sank into the ground as they left, leaving only one hard-to-see entrance. Link knew that the City must have been lying there like that for centuries, only coming to the surface when it - somehow- sensed Zelda and himself approach. No wonder no one had tried to plunder it. He made sure to include the location of the entrance on the map, too. It was part of his penance.

Fran let out a deep breath. "I never even got to meet her." Something sparkled in his eyes. "That's a shame."

"But you met the old Queen, right?" Link asked. "And the Hero of Time?" He'd seen and experienced too much now for him not to believe his old friend.

"That's right," the hunter said. His voice took on a wry tone. "Actually, I met her _again."_

Link frowned, but his friend offered no explanation. Everything felt thick. His heart, his soul, his throat - no matter how many times he connected with the One, he couldn't shake off the deep weight of melancholy that now clung to his mind. "It hurts, Fran," he said helplessly. "Even though I knew I did the right thing, that I placed the needs of others over my own, it still hurts."

Poking the fire with a stick, the Hylian hunter pondered over his words. "It hurts because your heart is alive, lad. This Teacher of yours seems like a wise chap. If I understand him correctly, I'm sure he'd say that no one has a right to satisfy their own ego at the cost of other people, but in denying our desires, we still cause ourselves pain." He locked gazes with Link. "That's why people are so scared. They're so scared to face that pain that they'll go to all lengths to make sure they don't endure it - even if they have to inflict that pain on others. It takes a true heart to be able to suffer it, then go _beyond_ it and not to be consumed by it." A pause. "It takes a Hero."

Link didn't say anything. There was nothing for him to say. He'd long gone past the need for tears. The Teacher's words floated back to him - 'We're not here to make ourselves happy, Link. If we put ourselves at the service of the One and of our fellow living beings, _that's_ where true happiness lies. Everything else is a self-centred illusion. We don't have the right to chase our petty desires when it may harm others, or worse, when others need our help.'

The fire hissed, the logs collapsing into ash. No one spoke. Out of the corner of his eye, Link saw Bannock sitting quietly, a silent observer. His Glimmer Bird, although aware of what had happened through their mental link, had offered no sagely advice.

"You know," Harlequin said, finally breaking the silence. "There's this bird at the bandit camp...what was it called?"

"The Trestral," Malon offered.

"Yes, that's it. Thank you, mistress. It always lays its eggs in two sets. You know why?"

Link shook his head. Gentle scorn entered his voice. "No, but I'm sure it'll teach me something wonderful about my life."

Harlequin laughed, making a face. "Well...there's this other bird, see. A Khork...it eats the Trestral's young. But see...the first eggs that hatch...the chicks that come out, they're all defiant like. It was amazing to see. Like they'd been born knowing that their purpose in life was to fight, to be soldiers. The Khork come and attack them, usually killing them after a long battle. But, in that time, the mother and the other hatchlings escape. Escape so they can live and grow and build their lives."

His eyebrow arching, Link said, "That doesn't really make me feel any better."

Fran cleared his throat. "I think what our young friend is trying to say, laddie, is that some of us were born to lose everything so that others would be allowed to live their lives. That's the way of the world, the way its always been, the way it always will be. Why does a mother tend to her baby in the deepest part of the night so that he can have some comfort? Why does she do it when she gets nothing in return, when she loses her sleep, her own comfort, sometimes even her health? It's the way of the world, lad. We don't question it, we don't change it. We accept it." He licked his lips. "Just don't lose sight of what you have while you're busy missing what you've lost."

Something struck Link at that moment. Something that shamed him to the core. Fran had lost something, some_one_ very close to him, someone from the past. He knew that his old friend once had family, and now that family was long gone. Had Fran given them up to help the Queen of old?

"So, it's really over," the hunter said, staring blankly into the fire as orange shadows danced on his face. "No more catastrophes every one hundred summer. No more darkness." He sighed. "But the scars are still here. Those will take time to fade. It'll take time to rebuild."

"At least now, mister," Malon said. "There won't be anything threatening to tear down what we accomplish."

"True."

"So, what now?" Link said. "I can hardly go back into service with the King." His hand dropped to the empty space on his belt where his crossbow had once hung. He'd left it behind at the City, not ever wanting to see it again. "I certainly have no desire to be an assassin again."

"Actually," Fran said, clearing his throat. "Montero did have a request for me to convey to you...should I ever meet you again."

"Montero?" Link said, grinning. "Fran Marcaster...since when have you been on first-name basis with royalty?"

The hunter smiled back, his eye twinkling. "Some of us were born to lose everything...others were born to live their lives in peace...I, on the other hand, was born to mingle with greatness."

Link threw back his head and laughed. It felt good to be able to do so, and dulled the pain in his heart. But only for a moment. "So what does he want from me?"

"The Hylians are going to be living rough for a while. They need someone to watch over them." Fran, his face now serious, looked at Link. "He's designated you to be their official Protector."

The former assassin didn't even have to think twice. A chance for him to put others before himself on a day-to-day basis? "Accepted."

He needed to see the Teacher. Needed to inform him of what had happened, and what was yet to happen. He felt a tremor of anticipation in his heart - it would be good to see his mentor again. He might even stop off at the Deku Tree on the way. Link pulled himself to his feet, brushing the dust from his tunic. His limbs tingled from being inactive for so long. He moved for the door, still limping, though he knew that, like his other injuries, his ankle, too, would heal with time.

"Where are you going, mister?" Malon said.

"Let us come with you," Harlequin said, standing instantly.

"No," Link replied. "Stay here. I'll come back."

The banditwoman rolled her eyes. "I've heard that before. Stay here. Bring this. Do that. I swear, I must be his slave or something. Aren't I supposed to be ordering you around, you being younger n all?"

The young Hylian smiled in response. "I have to learn not to lose sight of what I have, remember?" he said. "I'll get back to you both soon. I owe you both a lot. But there's someone a owe a lot more."

"Where will you go?" said Harlequin.

Link opened the door, the cool air a refreshing change to the stifling heat of the small hut. "To the only place I can go."

...

Mystral sat on the floor of her house, collecting her meagre belongings into a wooden box. There wasn't much, she mused, to mark the thirty summers that she'd spent in the world. She'd never thought about it before, though. She'd thought the only think she'd leave behind would be her brother, raised by her own hand. That was enough for her.

_Mama, Papa, I'm all alone again. _She sighed, willing herself to stay strong. That, at least, was something she not only had control over, but was quite good at, too.

Mystral could hear the bustle from outside, the urgent shouts and barked orders as the Hylians prepared for their exile. Sadness hung in the atmosphere, as did the trace of shame. They had brought this upon themselves. This time they couldn't blame the Calatians, the Gerudo or even Fate. They only had to look deep into their own souls. They would have plenty of time to ponder, too.

The King's request came back to her just then. She'd never considered herself the political type, never saw herself as part of the ruling class. And yet she couldn't help but feel tempted by the King's offer. She'd lost everything; she'd almost lost her own life, too. Mystral wanted to give something back to the people. Wanted to help guide and fashion their future. It was a challenge that she would relish.

"Mystral."

She looked up quickly, seeing the man framed in the doorway. "Deak," she said. "How are you?"

"Well enough," he replied. His eyes were downcast, as they always were now since the King's pronouncement. "Come outside. You'll be travelling first, with Tom's family."

A smile touched her lips. "Where are we going exactly?"

"I don't know," the Elder said. "Far away, it seems. The woman - Impa - she has a map."

Mystral nodded. She felt relieved that there would be someone else on this trip that she knew. Fran would be joining them soon, too. She wouldn't be alone, not really. Losing Anju, Hobert, and, to a lesser degree, even Kafei had hurt. They'd been her friends, regardless of their backgrounds. Mystral wondered exactly why Impa had chosen to take this path with her people, since she was guilty of nothing and was loyal to the King. It seemed to Mystral that the Hylian woman had more to her personality than first met the eye. Or perhaps it could be just that Impa didn't want to be the only Hylian left in New Hyrule. That was probably it.

Following the Elder through the door, Mystral stepped out into the afternoon light. All around her Hylians were loading their belongings onto wooden carts, the horses snorting impatiently, their hooves scuffing the ground. Children, oblivious to what was about to occur, chased each other, giggling.

The crowd parted as she walked, their voices hushed. They'd heard stories - exaggerated she was sure - of the part she had played in bringing peace back to the city. They nodded at her, greeting her in respectful voices.

"Mystral, good to see you," said one.

"Mistress...anything we can do for you?" said another.

"It brings joy to my heart to see you alive!"

"We're sorry, mistress...forgive us for everything."

She walked on quickly, her eyes trailing the ground, her cheeks pinched with heat. She didn't like being the centre of attention, and offered only murmured responses to everyone.

"Mystral."

She came to a sudden stop, her heart freezing in her chest. Something tingled at the back of her neck, cold sweat rising on her skin. "I know that voice..." she breathed. Slowly Mystral turned around, all the sounds around her fading away. Her heart was pounding now, hammering wildly. Scarlet sunlight dazzled her eyes, and for a moment she couldn't see exactly who had spoken. Then the person stepped into view. Her world stopped. "Link?"

She took a step forward, then stumbled. Again, she moved, first walking, then running, as she drew closer and closer towards his outstretched arms. "Link!" Mystral ran straight into him, almost toppling them both over. His arms closed around her, then picked her up, twirling them both around, their laughs ringing in the air. "Baby brother!" she sobbed. Her heart soared, tears rolling down her face. Her lips ached, so long had it been since she'd last smiled. "Baby brother..." Mystral scanned Link's face, and something twisted inside as she saw the scars lining his skin, saw the tight pain in his eyes. "Baby brother, what happened to you?"

Link raised a finger to her lips. "Later," he whispered. His eyes shone, the smile on his face wide. "I'll tell you later."

She was crying now, her hands clutching him tightly, just to make sure he was there, that he was _real._ "I thought you were dead." Mystral breathed in deeply; the scent of his skin, the touch of his tunic - all of it brought joy flooding into her heart

Pain flickered across his face. "I thought _you_ were dead," he said. "And that I'd killed you."

"Don't be ridiculous!" she cried, laughing. She couldn't stop the happiness bubbling inside of her. "I thought you'd left me."

"Now you're being ridiculous," he said, looking straight at her. "I could never leave you."

Her hand went to the necklace around her neck, the gift that he'd given her the last time she'd seen him. "I kept this," she said. "It reminded me of you."

Link frowned. "Throw it away," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "I have something better." He reached into his belt and pulled out a triangular shaped locket, spinning from a chain.

"What is it?" she said, removing the necklace with her hand. If Link hated it, she didn't want it. She stood, staring, marvelling that he still existed as her brother place the new chain around her neck. Glancing down for a moment, seeing the pendant resting there in place, she looked back up at him, the question still in the air and in her eyes.

Link drew her closer to him. "It's you," he said, as they turned to face the setting sun. "It's courage."

_Finis_

**A/N**: It's over! 'The Apprentice' only took me three months, but 'Rebel A' took me fourteen!

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed; thanks again to the usual suspects (you know who you are ).

Please do leave your final comments just to let me know it was all worth it.

I wish you all well.

Peace.

'Split Infinitive' aka 'Moo'


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